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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 












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Under Oath. 

AN ' ADIRONDACK STORY. 

By JEAN^KATE LUDLUM. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAYIS. 



' Ledger Library. 

NKW YORK: | No. 26. 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 


Publishers. 


TheELKHARTC>RRIAeESHARNESSIIFO.CO 




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FOR WOMAN’S LOVE 


By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 


Author of “The Hidden Hand,” “Unknown,” “ Lost Lady of Lone,’ 
“Nearest and Dearest,” “A Leap in the Dark,” etc., etc. 


Paper CoTer, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, J^l.OO. 



In this enthralling love story, 
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interesting picture of Washing- 
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Washington city and vicinity. 
The heroine, Corona Rockhartt, 
is the granddaughter of a Balti- 
more iron king, and one of the 
author’s most successful crea- 
tions. The story abounds in 
humor; and the negro dialect, 
of which Mrs. Southworth is so 
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Her negro characters will do 
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For sale by all Booksellers, and sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


UNDER OATH. 


X 



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UNDER 


OATH. 


X 


I 

\ , 

AN ADIRONDACK STORY. 


BY 


Jean Kate Ludlum. 




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WITH ILL US TEA TIONS B Y WARREN B. DA VIS. 



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NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

PUBLISHERS. 




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THE LEDGER LIBRARY : ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 26, 


< DECEMBER 1, 1890. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 




I 

Copyright, 1890, 

BY ROBERT BONNER'S SONS. 


{All rights reserved.) 


PRESS OF 

THE NEW YORK LEDGER, 
NEW YORK. 


UNDER OATH. 


CHAPTER I. 

TWO TO ONE. 

ALT 

The horse paused involuntar- 
ily, and fell back upon his 
haunches. His rider sat erect 
and defiant, a flush of anger vis- 
ible on his handsome face, even 
in the darkness of the wooded 
road. He bit his lip savagely, and then de- 
manded, a flash in his eyes like a danger signal : 

“What do you want, sirs? How dare you 
stop a traveler like this?” 



8 


Two to One, 


Two men held the bridle close to the horse’s 
mouth. They held, also, each a revolver, set in 
a deadly aim upon the man eyeing- them so 
fiercely, though he knew as well as they that he 
was at their mercy. His rifle, revolver and 
hunting-knife were comfortably packed at the 
bottom of his trunk, and his trunk was still at 
the station in the village he had left. He had 
no means of defense ; he was not fool enough to 
attempt a hand-to-hand struggle with those ugly 
weapons in such close proximity; he was not 
coward enough to plead for his life, and he 
cursed himself inwardly for having been such 
an idiot as to ride that road at that hour, with' 
out a weapon of some sort. 

One of the men laughed at this speech of his. 
Both wore half-masks on their faces, and were 
powerfully built ; they were, evidently, used to 
a rough life ; they would, doubtless, think but 
twice of murdering him, should there be need. 

“ Come, cap’ll !” this man said, shortly ; “ you 
may’s well do as we tell you. We’re used to 
bein’ obeyed ! It’s dark enough in all con- 
science. If you was fool enough to come along 
this road ’thout being prepared for us, we can’t 



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EDITH 




Two to One, 


9 


help it ! Mebby, too, it’s as well you ain’t, for 
two to one is pretty certain to win. Give up 
your rein, now. Oh, you may’s well do it!” a 
scornful snort breaking his speech, as he jerked 
the rein to loosen the rider’s hold. ‘‘ I’ll lead 
you safe enough, an’ my comrade ’ll see ’t you 
don’t make no trouble for us.” 

The other muttered some reply, which the 
rider could not distinguish ; neither could he 
detect what sort of a voice this man’s might be. 
His ears were alert for sounds that might betray 
his assailants at some future time ; though, and 
he laughed rather desperately at the thought, 
he might never have the -way to follow up any 
clew, no matter how clear it might be ! How 
could he know what the end of this adventure 
might be ? He had money in his pockets, but 
not enough to warrant such proceedings as this, 
and when they had taken such as they could 
find, might they not murder him out of pure 
revenge for the little gained ? He was no 
coward, but such an ending to his journey was 
not pleasant to consider. Then, too — and his 
heart throbbed fiercely at this new thought — 
what would Edith say ? What would Edith 


lO 


Two to One. 


think if he never came to her ; never sent her 
any message ; never again entered her life ? 

It was not a pleasant thought, but he shut his 
teeth over any word, and yielded the rein to his 
captors, as he knew, and was wise in acknowl- 
edging that he was in their power, and the less 
he angered them the more likely he was to 
escape their vengeance. 

“ Oh,” said the big, burly fellow on his right, 
who had so far done ,all the talking, and was 
now dimly to be seen shrugging his broad 
shoulders as he slipped the bridle over his 
wrist and started along the constantly darken- 
ing road, his companion following just at the 
rider’s girth with that murderous revolver 
ready for instant use, should there be need. 
“You give in, do you, cap’n? Mebby it’s as 
well for you ! 1 don’t s’pose you’re special 

afraid fer your life, biit its more philosophical 
to take things as you find ’em !” 

He laughed, and then they fell into silence. 
No sound was to be heard, save the tread of the 
horse’s hoofs and the heavy-booted heels of the 
men as they tramped steadily on through the 
ever-deepening darkness, the horse occasionally 


Two to One, 


1 1 

champing at his bit or jerking his head, as 
though to clear himself and his rider from the 
dangerous grasp into which they had fallen. 

Allan Mansfield had plenty of time for 
thought, as he was led he knew not whither. 
Dense woods were on either side of the road, 
and the twilight upon the level open behind 
him was displaced here by deepest shadows. 
He began to call himself a fool to have ventured 
along the road at that hour. He should have 
remained at Saranac Lake, instead of attempting 
to reach Placid that night. He had missed the 
Placid stage, and the liveryman of whom the 
animal was hired warned him against attempting 
to ride the lonely ten miles between the two 
villages. ' He laughed at the time. He bit his 
lip, remembering how cowardly he had thought 
the fellow’ for this warning. As though double 
ten lonely miles could dismay him, when he had 
promised to be at Placid that day ! 

Now he could see the folly of it. He was a 
stranger to the road, save as he had ridden it the 
previous summer in company with others. It 
was a plain road enough in the light of day, but, 
at that hour and alone, it was not the most desir- 


Two to One. 


I 2 

able of roads to travel. He might as well be 
among the Spanish banditti, as in the hands of 
such men as these, with whom he had fallen. 

What their object was, he could not of course 
tell to a certainty. They had made no mention 
of robbery. They would not hesitate to use 
those revolvers, he was pretty certain, but they 
did not shoot him down at once, as they should 
have done, if murder were their only object. So 
far as he could remember, he had made no man’s 
ill-will during his stay in that region the previ- 
ous summer. He treated the guides with the 
heartiest good-will ; they had seemed all to be 
ready at his slightest wish. Yet here these two 
men had risen from the roadside under the cover 
of overhanging woods, and each, with a hand on 
his bridle-rein and a revolver pointed with unfal- 
tering aim at him, had demanded that he do as 
they should bid. 

He could not comprehend it. He had plenty 
of time to turn the matter over and over during 
the silent ride through the darkness. 

They kept to the road for some distance. The 
thick woods on either side overshadowed the 
road, and the rough traveling caused the horse 


Two to One, 


13 


to stumble now and then, but the men did not 
once waver as to their course. They kept to the 
road for some distance, and then, without a word 
passing between them, turned the horse’s head 
aside, and led the way through an open bar-way 
to the wood path beyond, pausing to replace the 
bars; and then marched on as silently and mys- 
teriously as before. 

Allan Mansfield kept his eyes open and on the 
lookout. He could make no objection to any 
road they might choose. He did not know their 
intention, but there was no reason why he should 
not be on the watch for anything that might be 
of help to him, should there be hope of such. 
There was not a drop of cowardly blood in his 
veins, and he had passed through many a dan- 
gerous adventure ere that, but none, he acknowl- 
edged reluctantly, so strange as this. 

The road had been dark enough, but within 
the wood, the shadows melted into one, and lay 
over the world around him like a heavy pall, 
save here and there when an occasional streak of 
light struck through the heavy boughs. 

On and on they went, with no break in the 
silence save the tread of horse and men or the 




14 


Two to One. 


rustling of boughs as they brushed them in 
passing. On and on and on ! Allan Avondered, if 
they were to travel the night through, and if ever 
he should escape, how he could discover the way 
out of this labyrinth of darkness and boughs. 
The sound of a brook bubbling through the dark- 
ness fell upon his ear. They crossed it, splash- 
ing the water, and went on still, dark as the 
darkness, mysteriously and unfalteringly. There 
could be no doubt that his guides knew every 
step of the way they were going. No one but 
one well accustomed to the road could have fol- 
lowed a course so accurately or so unfalteringly 
as they. 

No words passed between the two masked 
men. They knew, apparently, the work for each 
to do. But there was no chance of escape there. 

Those eyes behind the masks were alert, as 
well as his. The slightest movement would rouse 
suspicion on their part, and the bridle-rein would 
tighten on the horse’s mouth, and the cold muz- 
zle of the revolver in the hand of the man at the 
saddle-girth against his cheek was certain to fol- 
low. He tried it once. He gave up all hope of 


Two to One, 


15 


that, then. He must wait and let fortune, if she 
would, bring him safely through ; otherwise— 

He shrugged his shoulders. It was his own 
foolhardiness that had brought him into the trap ; 
he, and he alone, must suffer the consequences. 
But was it he alone who would suffer from the 
consequences ? His cheek grew hot as the 
thought followed upon the other. What would 
Edith say, and what would she think ? And his 
mother, whom he left so few hours before — what 
would she think if he never returned to her, was 
never again heard of? Foul play they would 
say, of course ; but there would be the uncer- 
tainty and the utter impossibility of ever discov- 
ering the truth. 

To be sure, he had no claim upon Edith, and 
that savage biting of the lip continued as he fol- 
lowed the thoughts ; but he was sure of his own 
heart, and he must be sure of hers when the 
opportunity should be given him, or he could 
make it for himself ! He had decided that ques- 
tion on his way up on the train. That summer 
should not pass, as the previous summer passed, 
without bringing him some definite reply to the 


i6 


Two to One, 


question that had troubled him for so long he 
could not tell just when it did begin. 

But they went on through the darkness, wind- 
ing in and out, it seemed to him, as well as he 
could judge, unable to see the way ; and there 
was no movement of halting, no offer of conver- 
sation, or solution of the mystery so suddenly 
laid around him. If only he had brought his 
revolver, or even his hunting-knife. But no ; 
here he was, utterly defenseless, and at the mercy 
of how deep villains he did not know. 

They passed on and on and on. No lighting 
of the darkness of the wood, no hint of any end 
to the file upon file of trees before, behind and 
around them in the heart of that Adirondack 
forest ! He could do nothing, he could say noth- 
ing and know nothing till the time should come 
when they themselves — his captors — chose to 
enlighten him. It was mysterious and awful in 
its very mystery ! Never before had he heard of 
any band of outlaws in the woods of that region. 
Not within the past few years. Perhaps in the 
old days there were many and many p. band of 
this sort ; but this experience of his own was the 
first hint he had received of such things in the 


^ Who is this Woman f 


17 


enlightened generation in which it was his lot to 
be born ! 

He sat erect in the saddle ; he would not have 
them think he felt little fear of them. He was a 
man unarmed, defenseless, at their mercy, but he 
was still a man. 


CHAPTER 11. 

WHO IS THIS WOMAN? 

They paused suddenly. There was no open- 
ing, no end to the route evidently, so far as Allan 
Mansfield could see ; but his strange guides 
stopped, not with the uncertainty of those who 
knew not or were uncertain of their road, but as 
though this were the end of their way. .All was 
darkness. Not a ray of light anywhere, look as 
one would — No, stay! Was that a light yon- 
der where the darkness had seemed so dense but 
the moment before ? The shadows were so deep 
that there was not visible any object to make it 
darker, but this square of light proved that there 


i8 


WJlo is this Woman? 


must be some building at hand with a light 
within. Whether a house or an inn, or a shed as 
the rendezvous of thieves and murderers, he 
could not tell. He would know soon enough. 

The man at the bridle-rein evidently had no 
doubt of his vicinity, for he still kept his hold 
upon the rein as he stepped forward, and struck 
with the butt of his revolver what must be the 
door of a dwelling. There was no immediate 
response, and a muttered curse escaped his lips 
as once more he knocked, this time with consid- 
erable violence. The door opened then, and a 
woman appeared, shielding her eyes with one 
hand from the darkness, the soft lamplight at her 
back showing the slender, graceful outlines of 
her form. 

The man swore at her in an undertone, as he 
pushed with his boot the door wider open, and 
then turned to the young man still in the saddle. 

It’s time you got down outen that !” he said, 
in a gruff voice, not the free and easy bravado of 
the road he had previously used toward his pris- 
oner. “ This is yer destination till sech time as 
we think it’s best for you to skeedaddle ! Didn’t 


Who zs this Womazi ? 


19 


think you’d light into no sech hotel, did ye, when 
ye lit outen ther town yonder ?” 

He laughed roughly at his coarse joke, and 
eyed the young man as he threw one leg lightly 
over the saddle-bow and sprang down to the 
ground. 

Anything almost was preferable to that silent, 
•mysterious ride through the darkness. Reality 
was better than apprehension. The appearance 
of the woman in the doorway gave him hope. 
There could not be utter deviltry there if a 
woman was among them. He had such faith in 
women since he had known Edith Hallston. 

“ Take the critter away. Bill !” the rough man 
said, as he preceded the other into the house, 
though the other knew full well he must follow. 
“Ye can set down in hyar for awhite,” he added 
to Allan, as he strode through the room toward 
a door beyond. “ An’ you can git us supper, my 
woman !” He turned in the doorway to deliver 
this message at the woman who had opened the 
door for them, and then vanished beyond, clos- 
ing the door behind him. But Allan was not 
deceived. He was pretty certain there could no 


20 


Who is this Woman ? 


words pass between himself and the woman but 
others would hear. 

The woman placed a chair beside the fire of 
logs on the wide hearth, for the evening air of 
that woodland was cold, and motioned him to 
seat himself. She did not once lift her face full 
to the light, but the outline, as he could catch it 
in the uncertain light, was clear and delicate, 
though touched with an infinite sorrow. What 
was there in her life to leave such a trace upon 
such a face ? Allan began to ponder this with 
the other thoughts, as he seated himself in the 
chair placed for him, burying his head in his 
hands for a moment in his utter dismay. 

Alone, perhaps, in a den of robbers, and, 
worse, miles and miles from any assistance, 
utterly beyond the help of his brother-men. 
No cry of his could reach other ears than these. 
No call would sound further than the silent 
trees at most. His only hope was the presence 
of the woman. There was always some sort of 
sacredness in the presence of a woman. To 
just what class of outlaws his captors belonged 
he did not know, but there was this woman 
among them. He wondered if there were more 


Who is this Woman? 


21 


than the two he had met, and decided that such 
doubtless was the case. They were, perhaps, 
but two of a band of outlaws, with this house in 
the heart of the Adirondack forest as their 
rendezvous. Little hope for him, indeed. For, 
after all, what could a woman — and such a frail 
woman — do to help him ! And Edith — 

Harsh voices struck in upon his thoughts. 
The words were indjstinguishable, but the tones 
were those of men in no gentle mood. A 
woman’s voice, low and soft, but firm, mingled 
with the harsher tones. About what were they 
arguing? Not a word came to him. The 
voices rose or died for the moment in their 
argument, the men’s voices growing momen- 
tarily harsher and more discordant, that of the 
woman still soft and low, but without a trace of 
faltering. 

Allan Mansfield was no eavesdropper, but, 
with his life at stake, he had no hesitation in 
doing his best to catch what was passing in the 
next room. For what was the woman pleading? 
For what were the men so set? Curses mingled 
with the others. He could distinguish them. 
Once he caught the tingle of steel, as though a 


22 Who is this Woman? 

/ 

knife were being sharpened. The color forsook 
his face. To be caught like a rat in a trap ! 

Then the voices ceased. Silence again fell 
upon the house as it lay upon the woods 
through which they had passed. The crackle of 
the fire or the falling of a loosened log were the 
only sounds to be heard through the room. 

Presently the door through which the man 
and the woman had disappeared was opened, 
and the woman entered. Allan glanced closely 
at her, to read in her face, if possible, what was 
to befall him. Her face was pale, and there was 
a brilliancy in the eyes that made them larger 
and darker than before. The red lips must have 
once been sweet for kissing, but it may have 
been this life that had set the sternness upon 
them. She did not show any sign of emotion as 
she crossed the room after closing the door 
behind her. 

She crossed the room quite calmly, and with a 
step light and full of life. Passing him, her 
dress brushed against his knee, and she glanced 
up with a slow parting of her lips, as though she 
would smile upon him, but stopped. A fright- 
ened look came into her eyes ; new pallor spread 


Who is this Woman? 


23 


over her face. Then, ere he could comprehend 
this swift change in her demeanor, she turned 
away to the hearth, and, stooping, brushed the 
fire into a brisk blaze. 

When this was done, and she had brushed up 
the flying cinders with the broom beside the 
hearth, she rose, and again passed from the 
room swiftly, as though fearful she might be 
detained. 

Allan followed her with his eyes as she 
passed out, closing the door behind her. He 
wished, vaguely, that one . or other of them 
would forget to close the door, that he might 
know what was passing outside. What new 
mystery was this that had touched the woman 
to such a show of fear ? Or was it merely sur- 
prise, or a new thought of the murder to be 
done that night amid the silence and sacredness 
of the woods ? 

I wish she’d come back !” . Allan said to 
himself, leaning his elbow on the arm of the 
chair and his head in the hollow of his hand. 
Fear of unknown events gave place to astonish- 
ment. Why was the woman so moved when 
she looked in his face? At their entrance she 


24 


Who is this Woman ? 


had not once looked up, and had not seen him. 
What was there in his face that had so struck 
the life from hers ? 

He glanced mechanically around the room, as 
though by so doing the mystery might be 
solved. Everything was in the most scrupulous 
neatness. The floor was bare, but shining with 
the use of soap and water, and clean sand was 
sprinkled upon it, adding to the quaint effect. 
There were no pictures on the walls ; everything 
was blank and bare and staring white. Not a 
trace of adornment was in the room ; nothing 
but the most perfect neatness and household 
care. The plain pine table in the middle of the 
room lacked a cover, but it was shining and 
white. The pine chairs were spotless, ranged 
along the wall as though there was a plenty of 
visitors to occupy them. There was no time- 
piece in the room. It was evidently the living- 
room, and Allan wondered at this lack of any 
clock. He took out his watch — a handsome 
watch it was, engraved, and set with one glit- 
tering diamond, with his mother’s monogram 
upon it, for it was a gift to him from her — and 
discovered, with a start, that they had been 


Who is this Woman? 


25 


long upon their road through the woods, and it 
was close upon nine o’clock. 

“ It’ll not be long before I know the worst 
anyway,” he said to himself, grimly, as he closed 
the case and held the watch in his hand, as 
though it were the touch of a friend in that try- 
ing time. Then he sat still with his head in his 
hand and his eyes upon the fire, pondering his 
strange fate, and what the outcome was likely 
to be. 

“ They will like nothing better than to lay 
hold upon you,” he said, his eyes upon the 
watch, turning it over that the jewel should 
flash in the firelight. “ Mother had better have 
kept it than have given it to me before I left 
home, as she did. They will have to pretty 
well demolish it though, to dispose of it, for it 
would be easily traced. There is not another 
like it in the country.” 

It was in truth a beautiful thing. The jewel, 
flashing as he turned it in his hand, was of the 
purest quality ; the gold was solid and of the 
finest. It was exquisitely engraved, and around 
the jewel, in the center enclosing the monogram, 
was a motto in tiny letters of rubies : 


26 


Who is this Woinan? 


“ Mizpah — the Lord watch between thee and 
me till we meet again.” 

As Allan Mansfield sat so, his eyes upon the 
watch, the door opened noiselessly and the 
woman re-appeared, pausing for an instant upon 
the threshold. Instinctively following his gaze, 
her eyes fell upon the watch with its jewel 
flashing in the firelight. That deadly pallor that 
struck upon her face so mysteriously a few 
minutes previously, once more touched it with 
the look of death, and the eyes were strained 
and full of horror, as though there were some 
terrible thing close upon her, or one she loved. 
The red lips that should have been given to 
smiling parted in a ghastly fashion over the 
close-shut teeth crushing down upon them. She 
stretched out one hand, small and well formed 
it was, as though to steady herself against the 
door, and then she regained her self-control 
with a mighty effort, and shut the door entering 
the room. 

Allan looked up as her step crunched upon 
the sanded floor, and something in her face 


Who is this Woman ? 


27 


touched a chord of pity within him. For the 
moment he forgot himself, forgot the peril that 
surrounded him, as, replacing the watch in his 
pocket, he rose and went toward her, intense 
sympathy on his kindly face. 

“You are ill?” he asked, gently, laying his 
hand upon her arm, his clear, brown eyes upon 
her agitated face. “ Is there nothing I can do 
for you ? A glass of water — ” 

She stopped further words by a gesture. She 
shrank from his touch upon her arm. She 
strove to recall the color to her face, but could 
not. There was something in her eyes that 
warned him she was no ordinary woman. 

She motioned for him to again be seated, and 
instinctively he obeyed her. Her motions were 
quiet, but he knew she must be under some 
violent emotion. He watched her as she moved 
about the room preparing the table for supper. 
Her figure was slender, her step light, a some- 
thing of nameless grace was about her. Allan 
watched her with considerable curiosity, for 
the time forgetting himself. 

Presently she turned from the table, with its 


Who is this Woman? 


neat arrangement for one, and crossing to him, 
steadied her voice, as she asked, softly : 

“ Do you mind telling me your name, sir? 
I do not ask from idle curiosity, believe me.” 

He believed her. There was that air of 
unmistakable truth and purity about her that 
forbade unjust thought of her.* 

“ Mansfield,” he replied, quietly, with a trace 
of hesitation in his manner. “ Allan Mansfield. 
Is there anything I can do for you, madam ?” 

She shook her head, shutting those small, 
white teeth over the red lips. The expression 
in her eyes hurt him. They were like the eyes 
of a wounded animal — beautiful eyes, but a 
heart-pang in their depths. 

And your home ?” 

How wonderfully steady the voice was. 

I am from New York,” said Allan, unable to 
take his eyes from her face. There was some- 
thing familiar in her face, though he could not, 
for the life of him, place where he had ever seen 
her. 

“Were — were you alone, to-night?” Why 
should that terror come into her voice and 
face ? 


Who is this Woinaji? 


29 


“ Yes.” His eyes were alert. Had she a pur- 
pose in asking these questions ? Perhaps she 
meant, if anything happened — 

“ But you came up from the lake ?” she asked 
again. She would know, to the least detail, his 
plans. He smiled to himself at the thought, but 
felt there was more than mere idle curiosity in 
her questioning. 

“ I came up from the city on the afternoon 
train. The train was late — they tell me that is 
often the case.” He smiled here, though he lost 
none of his gravity. “ I was on m y way to 
Lake Placid. I had made my plans for remain- 
ing there for a couple of months. I have 
friends there. My mother was to have come, 
but was detained for a few days. She will 
come on later — ” 

“ Then your mother did not come with you ?” 
A flash of light appeared for an instant across 
her pallid face. 

Allan looked at her in amazement. Was she 
insane? Why should it interest her whether or 
not his mother accompanied him, or even 
whether he had a mother at all? 

“You will pardon me for these questions,” 


30 


Who is this Woman f 


said the soft, low, tremulous voice, as a sweet- 
ness and grace came into her manner. ‘‘ I have 
not asked them from curiosity, as I told you. 
Perhaps, in the morning, I may be able to tell 
you why I have asked them. If not — ” for a 
moment the low voice died out as though with 
horror at some thought at strife with her calm- 
ness — “ if not, you will — you must — know that it 
was for the best and kindest motive they were 
asked ! Will you come to supper?” 

She turned from him with the steady step 
that characterized her movements, and drew up 
a chair to the table, waiting for him to follow. 
When he obeyed her, she left the room, pres- 
ently returning with a plate of smoking ham 
and potatoes, with a daintily prepared egg, and 
coffee. 

^‘Your ride was cold,” she said, quietly, as 
she set the dishes upon the table before him. 

The coffee will strengthen you. If you would 
be strong you will eat what I have set before 
you. Afterward I will show you your room.” 

She left the room as noiselessly as she had 
entered. Mansfield, in considerable bewilder- 
ment, but with the common-sense determination 


Who is this Woman? 


to eat, as the woman had warned him, in case 
there might be need of strength, ate of what she 
had brought. 

What did the woman mean, he asked him- 
self, by her questions and agitation? Did she 
know of what was to take place during the 
stillness of the night, and were these things 
new to her? She was not a young woman, as 
that term is understood. Thirty -five years 
must have passed over her head at the least, 
though there was a grace and gentleness about 
her that would make her charming anywhere 
but in that den of thieves and murderers. What 
was it in her life that linked her to him ? What 
was there in her face that awakened some old 
memory ? He could not solve the problems 
as they rose and grew confused in his mind, 
and he soon laid aside the knife and fork, and 
leaned back in his chair, giving himself up to 
reverie. 

In the midst of this sounded again the angry 
voices in discussion in the outer room, though 
now in more hushed tones and with that of the 
woman steady with some strange purpose. Then 
they died away, with a muttering now and then, 


32 


Who ts this Woman f 


as though some fierce fire of anger were work- 
ing, and the woman, calm, still, steady-voiced, 
appeared in the room, saying, in her unmoved 
manner: 

“ If you have done, sir, I will show you your 
room.” 

He rose at once, and followed her, without a 
word of objection. It was in some other room, 
then, he was to be robbed and murdered ! 

His guide paused at the end of a long passage 
on the second floor, the small lamp she carried 
flaring as a gust of wind crept through a crack 
in the rafters above, and held out a key to him. 

“ Will you have your key, sir?” 

There was some strange meaning in her voice, 
surely. 

He shook his head, with a sudden determina- 
tion to test her. 

“ No,” he said, quietly, his eyes upon her face 
keenly. “If they intend to murder me, they will 
get in anyhow. Why should I lock the door?” 

The woman staggered for an instant, lifting 
her blanched face to his. Then she gathered her 
marvelous strength of will, and said, slowly but 
steadily : 


In the Solemn Night. 


33 


“ This is your light, sir. I trust your rest will 
be undisturbed.’* 

Turning swiftly, she disappeared along the 
passage, and her light feet upon the stairs proved 
to Allan that he was alone at the doorway of what 
might be his death-chamber, the light flickering 
and flaring fitfully out of the darkness around 
him. 


CHAPTER III. 

IN THE SOLEMN NIGHT. 

Gathering courage in the midst of these strange 
happenings, Allan turned the handle of the door, 
and entered the room assigned him for the night, 
that might, for all he knew, be his last night upon 
earth. The lamp flickered in a most dishearten- 
ing way, but it was better than no light, and of 
this he was fully aware. Glancing swiftly around 
the room, he found it cozy, and as cheerful as a 
small fire of logs upon the hearth could make it ; 
but he was not in a specially cheerful mood, and 


34 


III the Solemn Night. 


failed to fully appreciate the brightness of the 
room. 

It’s a devil of an adventure !” he muttered, as 
he set the lamp upon the stand at the right of 
the hearth, and stood staring about him in a 
mixed state of mind. “These little scenes are 
all very well in novels or upon the stage, but 
when it comes down to a fellow’s being pushed 
through the same hole himself in real life, it’s 
another thing. “ Well,” he shrugged his shoul- 
ders, and lifted his brows in an attempt at bra- 
vado, “ if the worst comes to the worst, all I can 
^do is to make the best use I can of my muscles. 
They’re pretty tough and pretty good for such a 
scrimmage, and maybe can change the current of 
events.” 

He ran his left hand up and down over the 
muscles of his right arm thoughtfully, still eying 
the quiet little room with its spirit of neatness 
upon everything. 

“ She’s a puzzle, though — that woman,” he 
added, knitting his brows and turning his gaze 
fiercely upon the friendly fire, that seemed to him 
to flame up in warning arms of rose, to tell him 
of what the night and the solemnity of the heart 


In the Solemn Night. 35 

of the Adirondacks held for him. “ Why she 
should have taken it into her head to become so 
interested in my welfare is beyond my compre- 
hension, though there is something about her 
that recalls something in my old life — only for 
the life of me I can’t recall just what it is.” 

Still frowning heavily at the fire, he sat down 
in the chair drawn to one side of the hearth, 
near the stand with the lamp upon it, and draw- 
ing from an inner pocket a case of cigars, 
selected one, and, lighting it, leaned back, 
determined at least to make himself as comforta- 
ble as circumstances would permit, and so 
fortify himself against whatever might come 
upon him. 

“ Of course, I won’t go to bed to-night,” he 
said, in that grim tone that had come to him 
during the startling adventure of the evening. 
“ I don’t suppose I’ll have a very fair light if it 
comes to that, but at least I’ll be on guard. ' An 
ounce of prevention — ’ ” 

He blew wreaths of smoke, one after another, 
around his head, and watched them floating up 
and up, to dissolve at last in a ghostly glimmer 
of past substance. He held the cigar between 


36 


In the Solemn Night. 


his thumb and finger, his elbow on the chair- 
arm, and gazed into the red heart of the 
fire that flared up toward the sky at the top of 
the chimney. 

Allan’s thoughts drifted after the fire as it 
flaunted and flickered. What was there to 
hinder his escaping through the window ? 
There could not be a long jump to the ground. 
The night was dark enough surely. He could 
not be seen. Even the keenest eyes could see 
nothing through that darkness. But if he 
should escape the house, how could he hope 
to escape the wilderness ? Where would he 
find the path to lead to the road ? And he 
could never hope to do this in any event with- 
out the horse. 

Was it money they wanted, he asked himself. 
He hadn’t enough with him to satisfy such a 
demand as they would be likely to enforce ; 
besides, and he closed those determined teeth of 
his over the thought, once more setting the 
cigar between them, he had a good mind to 
refuse any sort of compromise. Should he 
grant any such demand, would it not give them 
license to attempt the same outrage upon 


In the Solemn Night, 


37 


others ? At the most, it was not likely that he 
was the first man they had made this attempt 
upon. It was evident they knew every foot of 
ground over which they had passed from the 
highway to the house. Their hiding-place 
would be almost undiscoverable, should any 
attempt be made to find them. 

How the minutes and hours dragged. He 
stirred the fire and kept the blaze going to 
lighten the loneliness of the room. Every 
sound, no matter how infinitesimal, sounded 
startling through the quiet. Hark ! He leaned 
forward, the better to catch any new sound that 
might mean danger. His ears were quick for 
sound. 

Only a rat in the outer passage ! A scatter- 
ing of soft feet along the rickety boards ; a 
squeal, as though of derisive laughter at man’s 
magnificence ! 

Allan leaned back once more in his chair. He 
lighted another cigar. This was the third he 
had smoked. Still there was nothing to cause 
him more than one or two swift heart pulsations, 
as quick to pass away, as nothing came of them. 
He glanced at his watch ; he had set it upon the 


38 


In the Solemn Night, 


stand near him that its face mi^ht be a friend to 
him in the quiet room. Half-past twelve ! 
Nothing new. Everything, save those small 
sounds of the night, as silent as the grave, and 
as peaceful. If only the morning would come ! 
He was not a coward, but this waiting for some 
unknown danger was unbearable. 

The lamp-light seemed fading. He stooped 
and examined for the cause, turning the wick up 
to the full height the chimney would bear. The 
oil was nearly gone ; that was the cause of its 
failing. Presently he would be without light, 
save for that of the fire. Thank heaven, there 
was plenty of wood to keep the fire going the 
night through. He could not have borne the 
dead darkness of the room under his excited 
feelings. 

There, the flame of the lamp flared up bluely, 
wavered, swung, as though struggling for even 
that pale life, and was gone. 

Allan removed the cigar from between his 
teeth to mutter a malediction upon it. . 

He struck the log with his foot, and sent a 
shower of sparks up the chimney and out into 
the room. This set the fire to burning with 


hi the Soleimi Night. 


39 


renewed brightness, until the room was quite as 
brilliant as when the lamp was lighted. 

“ They shall have the benefit of all the light I 
can give them, anyhow,” he said, savagely. He 
was getting into a bad temper. The loneliness 
and silence, together with the fatigues of his 
recent journey, were shaking his good-nature. 
It would be ^hard struggle for any one attempt- 
ing him harm, for his blood was up, and his mus- 
cles were strong as whip-cords. 

I almost wish they would come,” he said, 
presently, with renewed hostilities toward the 
fire. “ Tm in as good a humor as I could wish, 
to meet all the robbers in the country, excepting 
that a good revolver loaded to the muzzle would 
not come amiss. But if the worst comes, they 
shall have a hard tussle.” 

Silence again, and the crackling of the fire as it 
shot up the black chimney toward the free air. 
Not a sound on the air, save those small, mysteri- 
ous night sounds along creaking boards and at 
ghostly crevices in the roof. 

Two o’clock, and nothing yet happened. Allan 
was growing restless. He was intensely tired, 
but could no more have closed his eyes in slum- 


40 


In the Solemn Night, 


ber than he could have discovered his path 
through the woods outside. No matter how 
weary he might be, he must watch and wait for 
treachery that boded its own time for action. 
He would not be murdered in his sleep, if he 
knew it. They should find him ready at any 
moment, should they care to try. 

Three ! Four ! Another hour and daylight 
had made its way through the dense woods, and 
the heavily hanging boughs, and was bringing 
on its footsteps the golden lighf of another day’s 
sunshine. Five o’clock ! Six ! And still Allan 
Mansfield was in the land of the living, and there 
had been no attempt upon his life so far as he 
was cognizant. To whom or what could he owe 
this escape from robbery or death? He had 
been prepared for either or both during that ter- 
rible night’s vigil, and still, neither had come for 
his deciding. 


The Heart of a Woman. 


41 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE HEART OF A WOMAN. 

A light tap came to his door, and he crossed 
over to open it, fearing nothing now the sun- 
light and the day had come. The woman stood 
in the dark passage. She was very calm, but 
there were traces of some struggle upon her 
face. There were lines there that had not been 
there when she and Allan talked in the room 
below the previous evening. 

“ If you are ready, sir, be kind enough to 
come down at once,” she said, quietly. Your 
breakfast is ready, and it is important for you to 
be ready to start as soon as possible.” 

To start! They would take him to some 
other place then to finish their work. He need 
have had no fear for his life in the house. These 
were strange robbers, indeed. They gave lodg- 
ing and board to their victims ere taking from 
them their property and life ! A harsh laugh, 
born of his night’s strain, crossed his lips, but 


42 


The Heart of a Woman, 


was instantly silenced as he caught the woman’s 
eyes. Their expression was brave and steady, 
but they, too, showed the trace of some terrible 
battle during the night. What was this mys- 
tery ? 

The harsh laugh died into a slow, grave 
smile that set well upon the kind face, as he said, 
as quietly as she had spoken : 

I have been ready since last evening, madam. 
Shall I follow you at once ?” 

Again that frightened look in her eyes and the 
horror upon her face. Did she not know he 
could not fail to realize that this strange game 
of hide-and-seek must mean more than a mere 
night’s lodging in the wilderness, brought in by 
force ? 

For answer she bent her head, and motioned, 
with one white hand, for him to follow. 

He closed the door of his room, and followed 
her as she bade him. The passage was dark, 
and he did not wonder at those strange sounds 
of the night, when he saw the broken boards, 
and open rafters of the place. He shrugged 
his shoulders as his eyes took in the bare 
sight. 


The Heart of a Woman, 


43 


There was no sign of others about as they 
entered the door of the room where he had been 
brought the previous night, and where his sup- 
per was served and the woman had given that 
startling glimpse of mystery in her motives for 
questioning him. The table was cleanly spread, 
and there was a plain, though substantial meal, 
prepared as on the other occasion of his dining 
with his strange hostess. She beckoned him to 
be seated at once, scarcely granting him time 
to close the door from the stairway. She 
seemed in most extreme haste to have him gone. 
He smiled bitterly as he wondered where would 
be his next stopping-place, and if he would 
receive as remarkable a welcome as he had 
received in that house ! 

The woman was restless. She crossed to the 
fire-place and made a show of sweeping up the 
hearth. She started toward the opposite door 
through which Allan had caught the angry 
voices of the previous evening, and then turned 
back ere she reached it. She went to the one 
window at the front, and glanced out as though 
expecting some one. 

Allan watched her with fascination. He 


44 


The Heart of a Woman. 


could not take his eyes from her for long. 
There was something so terrible upon her face 
that he could not doubt the night had been one 
of suffering to her. Not physical suffering, but 
a tumult of mind that made mere physical pain 
dwindle to nothing. That she had been in dan- 
ger of her life might even be possible, but he 
could not determine what was the true cause of 
those new and intense lines upon the quiet, cold 
face. 

“ Pardon me,” he said presently, unable longer 
to keep silence. “You have been very kind to 
me, madam. Is there nothing I can do for you 
before I leave, to prove to you how much I 
appreciate this ?” 

For a moment she did not answer, and he 
began to doubt if she heard. She was standing 
at the window, her very figure proving that she 
was under severe mental strain, as though she 
would feel the approach of any other than them- 
selves. Then she turned upon him, and her face 
had changed. It was pallid as the dead then ; 
now it was flaming with color and her eyes were 
brilliant as stars. Her hands were fluttering 
with her excitement. She started toward him, 


The Heart of a Woman. 


45 


her lips apart to speak, but uttering no sound, as 
though her excitement were too much for her to 
master for the moment. 

Allan rose instantly at sight of this change in 
her. He reached out his hands as though he 
feared she would fall, she was trembling so, and 
there was that wonderful light upon her face. 
But she raised her hands to keep him away, and 
then let them fall upon her breast, folded as one 
would fold the hands of the dead or the dying 
who would pray. 

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was intense as 
her face, though quite under her control, her 
brilliant eyes looking into his. “ Yes, sir; there 
is something you can do for me. Listen ! Dc 
you know why you were brought here last night? 
Do you know what would have happened but 
for me? You would have been murdered, you 
say? Yes!” Excitement was dawning in her 
voice, but she struggled to overcome it, and suc- 
ceeded. “ I have saved your life, sir ! It was I 
pleaded with those men — beseeched them — ^yes, 
begged them upon my knees for your life. Why ? 
That I will not tell you now. I have tried to 
bring myself to tell you, but I cannot do it now 


46 


The Heart of a Woman. 


when the time has come to tell. Let this satisfy 
you; I have saved your life. You go now — at 
once — from here in company with those who 
brought you, and on your own horse. You will 
be taken along the very path through which you 
rode last night. But you will never be able to 
discover this path by yourself to betray us, for 
you shall not. You shall be given your property 
and be left in precisely the same spot as that in 
which you were taken last night. Not a hand 
shall be laid upon you to your harm. But — ” 

She paused, and caught her breath, as though 
she were fighting with death, and her. voice, 
when she again took up her conversation, was 
hoarse and unnatural. 

“ When you go away from here, you will 
neither be bound nor blindfolded, and every foot 
of the way is the same as you trod last night, but 
I defy you to discover this spot again, should 
you seek it forever. And the reason you will 
not find it, is this : • Before you leave this room, 
before it is certain that your life is saved, there 
is an oath you must take from me, and keep it as 
sacredly as you would keep an oath to your 
mother or your God.” 


The Heart of a Woman. 


47 


She shivered, and for a moment covered her 
strained face with her trembling hands. When 
she looked up, the old, haggard expression was 
upon her face.* 

“ Will you swear to me that this oath I shall 
require at your hands shall be kept with the 
sacredness of these two memories? _ Will you 
swear never to break it? Will you lift your hand 
toward the heaven you will say we outrage, and 
swear to keep the oath I shall make you take to 
save your life from the hands of murderers and 
robbers ?” 

Her voice grew solemn and slow and awful in 
its very intensity of feeling, as she spoke. Allan 
Mansfield felt a sense of awe in her presence, as 
he stood just out of reach of her, and gazed into 
her face. Her mention of his mother wakened 
tenderness toward this woman outlawed by the 
rules of society, and he said within himself, that 
he would indeed treasure as sacredly an oath to 
her, be it ^ what it might, as -he would to his 
mother or his God. 

She reached out her hands toward him, but 
would not let them touch him nor his touch her, 
as she said, slowly and distinctly: 


48 


The Heart of a Woman, 


“ Allan Mansfield, will you swear to me by all 
your love for your mother, by all your hopes of 
love from another, by the reverence in your 
heart for your God, that ne\^r from this 
moment, never from the time you cross this 
threshold, never from the time you pass from 
my sight to-day, you will utter to a living soul 
this adventure through which you have passed 
in safety only by my hands ? Never to utter one 
word or give one hint of the house in the woods, 
where is held the rendezvous of robbers and 
murderers, and among whom is a woman who has 
risked her life for yours, until twelve months 
shall elapse ; and never during your whole life, 
nor after your death, leave any written word of 
where you have been, nor who has saved you ? 
When the twelve months have passed, you are at 
liberty to tell of this experience, even show the 
place where you remained, at the very door of 
death, through a night as lonely as the grave 
itself! These things you can then tell if you 
choose, but never, on peril of your life and the 
life of the one dearest to you, breathe one sylla- 
ble of what the persons are like, nor describe by 
one word the woman who has saved you. Be it 


ALLAN STEPPED OUT UPON THE LTTTLE PLATPOEM WHERE HIS HORSE WAS STANDING,— /See Page, 5 








49 


The Heart of a Woman, 

enough that you are saved. Some time, in the 
future, when the brand has worn away from my 
heart, I myself may speak ; but you, never!” 

She was magnificent in her excitement. Allan 
faced her in silence for a moment. Then she 
turned her head toward the window as though 
she heard the approach of some one, and added, 
in an intense whisper: ♦ 

‘‘Do yQu swear this to me, Allan Mansfield? 
Will you take this oath upon your soul, or will 
you fail me at the door of your escape from 
death ?” 

He hesitated. It was a terrible thing, indeed, 
that she was asking of him. How many lives 
might he be placing in this same danger if he 
refused to give evidence that might end this out- 
law band ? But if he did refuse, then he could 
not tell either, for he would not live to repeat 
it! They could be cruel as the grave, he knew, 
indeed. 

Her eyes were upon his and seemed to draw 
his very soul to hers, and the purity of her 
action made him grave, as he replied : 

“ But how can I, being a man, bearing the 
nobility of manhood, grant this oath of yours, 


50 


The Heart of a Woman. 


madam, when it may mean the death of others 
like myself, who come to you unconscious of ill ? 
Could you ask me to do this? Would you do 
it ?” 

The lips grew stern and the fire of the eyes 
flashed into his. 

'‘You have but a moment,’" she said, coldly, 
half turning away. “ TJiey are bringing around 
your horse. You must judge of this for your- 
self, only — ” once more that flashing and flushing 
that transformed her as she reached out her 
hands toward him for the last time — “ only there 
is this that will follow : Swear this to me here 
— now — swear ! — or you die ! ” 

His lips were as stern as hers; his eyes as 
searching. 

And you would murder me if I refused to 
take this oath?” he said, coldly, as she had 
spoken. “ Is this your nobility, your woman- 
hood, your reverence for a mother’s name, and 
the name of your God — ” 

“ Hush ! Hush ?” she cried, wildly. “ How 
dare you talk to me of a mother’s memory, or 
the memory of a God ? How dare you ask me 
of my womanhood and my nobility after this 


The Heart of a Woman, 


51 


night? It is not I who would murder you. 
Believe me, it is not I ! Could a woman commit 
murder in cold blood ? Could a woman rob a 
mother of a son? You know not what you 
speak, Allan Mansfield ! But of this you shall 
be warned : Do as I tell you — obey me at once 
— swear ^ or you die 

‘‘ And if I die — ” How grave his voice was. 
Even the woman paused in her frenzy, and 
looked at him, the warm color, that must have 
made her beautiful in her youth, rushing in a 
flood to her cheeks, reaching up even to her 
beautiful soft hair, falling to the low band of her 
dress about her white neck. 

She would have touched him, but she dared 
not. She placed her hands behind her and 
clenched them, as though, by so doing, to place 
out of possibility her going to him any nearer 
than she was then. » 

“ If you die,’’ she said, slowly, striving to keep 
her voice smooth, her eyes upon his, “ if you die, 
Allan Mansfield, you will rob a mother of her 
son ; a girl, somewhere, of her lover ; and lay the 
stain of blood upon my soul. Will you swear 
now, Allan Mansfield — will you swear — or die ?'* 


52 


The Heart of a Woman. 


He, too, heard the horse’s hoofs on the gravel, 
outside the door. Her head was bent toward 
the window, as though she could so know of 
what those outside might be saying or doing, 
but she kept her eyes upon his face. She could 
not let him go until she had done her best. 

How did she know of Edith ? The color 
rushed to his face, as her words struck his very 
soul. After all, of what use would it be for him 
to refuse to take this oath ? He would never 
live to carry out any plan of disorganizing this 
band. They would have no mercy for one who 
would betray them. He could not expect that. 
And this woman, who had such a strange inter- 
est in him, and who touched some chord of 
memory that was too faint to be recalled, had 
risked her life to save his, and should he not 
accept it at her terms, for his mother’s sake and 
for Edith ? 

The horse’s hoofs paused at the steps. A 
heavy whip-butt struck the steps, and the woman 
drew herself erect before him, a new dignity 
upon her. 

“ Your time is at an end, Allan Mansfield. 


The Heart of a Woman, 


53 


They are ready, and you have delayed. What 
answer shall I give to them ?” 

She was moving toward the door, but he 
stepped forward and would have laid his hand 
on her arm, but she shrank from him, as though 
in terror lest he should touch her. 

“ Wait !” he said, almost with a gasp. It had 
come upon him suddenly, as such great events 
generally do come in one’s life. Give me but 
one moment longer, madam. How can I deny 
your gift ? How can I refuse to swear as you 
would have me ? Of what use would it be to 
refuse ? It could do no good.” 

“ No !” What a bitterness there was in her 
voice now! “Then you have changed your 
mind, and will swear as I request, Allan Mans- 
field? You will swear, lifting up your hand 
toward heaven, and in reverence to your 
mother, the girl you love, and your God — you 
will swear to never divulge this secret? You 
will never, by word or look, repeat what you 
have heard and seen here, until the twelve 
months have passed ; and never, to the end of 
your life, tell who it was that saved you or 
describe to any person the features of her face. 


54 


The Heart of a Woman, 


nor leave any word after you are dead that can 
lead to the identification of who I am ?” 

Allhn Mansfield lifted his hand in example of 
hers, and repeated after her the words of the 
oath. 

“ I swear it,” he said, solemnly; ^‘and God do 
to me accordingly as I keep my oath !” 

The woman’s hand fell to her side, and she 
turned away so coldly and calmly, without offer- 
ing him one word of farewell, although he 
advanced to offer her such, that he paused, look- 
ing after her as she slowly but proudly left the 
room by the rear door, closing it softly after 
her, so shutting herself from him. And Allan 
crossed to the door, taking his hat from the 
stand beside the door, as he turned the* handle 
and stepped out upon the little platform where 
his horse was standing, impatiently pawing the 
sod, the bridle-rein held in the powerful hand of 
one of those who had escorted him from the 
road to the home in the wilderness the previous 
evening. He wore a mask as he had upon that 
occasion, and, although Allan’s eyes were sharp, 
and he gave him a look that would have 
engraved forever his likeness upon his memory 


The Heart of a Woman, 


55 


had the mask been absent ; as it was, he gained 
but the faintest glimpse of a tawny mustache 
and full lips and no shadow of a beard. Then 
the man jerked the horse’s bridle impatiently, 
and turned him off for him to mount. 

There was no need of words ; the motion was 
sufficient to inform Allan that unless he came at 
once, and that as fast as his legs admitted, he 
would be unmercifully left to his own fate. He 
sprang to the saddle and would have taken the 
bridle, but the man drew it over his arm and 
turned the horse’s head away down the path 
toward the heart of the woods through which 
they had passed the previous night, though 
Allan could not help wondering how under the 
heavens the man ever knew which was the path 
that would eventually lead to the road that he 
should have passed safely over hours before but 
for this interruption. 

There was not room for two horses to go 
abreast along that path, and this was the reason, 
Allan said to himself, that the man walked and 
led the horse by the head. The trees were so 
close together in long files that to have 
attempted to have broken a path through for 


56 


The Heart of a Wo7nan. 


two would have ended disastrously. The path 
was so narrow that the lower boughs of the 
trees now and then caught in the saddle or in 
one’s garments, passing through. 

It was close companionship along the wood- 
land route, and one if not both these strangely 
met men would have gladly parted company 
long ere they reached the open road, but there 
was some strong command upon the one, and 
the other knew not a step of the ground, so that 
it was necessary for them to keep as close 
together as though they were in the bands of 
most tender brotherhood. 

Allan now and then glanced keenly down at 
this magnificently built man at his bridle-rein, as 
though he would pierce even the thick mask and 
mark the features that would have bent above 
him dead, long ere that, but for the power of a 
woman. But the mask was close and kept its 
secret well, and only that one glimpse had he 
caught of the tawny mustache and full lips and 
broad chin, for the man walked ahead looking 
neither to the right nor the left, though it would 
have gone hard with his prisoner had he 
attempted to escape, as his glance struck back- 


The Heart of a Woman. 


57 


ward whenever he deemed it necessary to look 
after the welfare of his passenger, and the revol- 
ver in his belt, concealed by the overlapping waist- 
coat, was near his hand and he would not have 
hesitated to use it to the best advantage — nay, 
might even have been glad of the opportunity. 

But none came, and after what was even at the 
beginning of such a beautiful day a most tire- 
some ride, Allan once more found himself left 
upon the road exactly where he was the previ- 
ous night, with his face toward Lake Placid, and 
his bridle-rein once more in his own hand, at lib- 
erty to ride as he would. And with this new and 
exciting sensation of freedom upon him, he 
struck the horse sharply with the whip that had 
been returned to him with the rein, and they 
dashed recklessly along the wooded road in the 
heart of the mountains, the woman’s solemn 
words ringing to the tune of the horse’s hoofs 
over the ground : 

Swear, or you die ! Swear, or you die 


58 The Beginning of Difficulties, 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BEGINNING OF DIFFICULTIES. 

The new sensation of freedom was to Allan 
Mansfield like a glass of champagne. The morn- 
ing was beg.utiful, and the wind, sweeping his 
face as his horse dashed, on through the rough 
road, the tall grasses of the roadside brushing 
his stirrups, stirred the heavy boughs of the 
trees on either side, bending them down and 
swinging slowly to and fro, rustled off through 
the glinting sunshine as mysteriously as it had 
come, along the spur of the mountains to the 
left. 

Whiteface was aglow with green up to the base 
of the peak, and there the haunting mists 
shrouded his head and waved like vails of gauze, 
in defiance of him who would solve their mys- 
tery. Saddleback, with his humps of pines, 
leaned away toward the south, with Mackenzie 
and Baker straggling into more insignificance 
toward the lazy little river winding at their feet. 


The Beginning of Difficulties. 59 


To the north the chain broke and mingled again 
with Catamount far away, Sugarloaf near it, and 
Marcy’s huge shoulders looming beyond them, 
all like a king of the hills. 

The world had never seemed so beautiful to 
Allan Mansfield as it did then. As his horse 
carried him along at a swinging gallop through 
the soft air and glimmering early sunlight, his 
eyes grasped the morning’s beauty as though it 
were but newly born. Life, too, seemed a 
better thing than before. Even its harsh lines 
were smoothed by the blessing of living with 
young life in one’s veins, and hope buoyant along 
one’s blood. 

As the woods cleared, and he turned the curve 
that brought him to the little village of Placid, 
his heart was bounding exultantly. Edith Hall- 
ston was in that village ; he would see her ere an 
hour had elapsed ; her warm hands would be in 
his, her bright face with those wpnderful dark 
eyes would be before him, and all danger and 
sadness and despondency would give way for 
the sturdy young feet of love ! What was that 
terrible night with its horrors compared with 
the days and nights spreading out before him 


6o The Beginning of Difficulties, 


with their promise ? What was the face of the 
woman marked by the hand of wrong and suffer- 
ing, compared with the other womanly face with 
its sweetness and tenderness, and the eyes that 
could flash or soften for him at will? 

He drew bridle at Allen’s Hotel, and sprang 
from the saddle, whistling for some one to take 
his horse. The slope before the hotel was green 
with young summer, and stretched to the lake, 
whose blue waters sparkled, drifting under the 
shadow of the mountain. The carry looked like 
a thread separating the two larger bodies of 
water. Whiteface, looming above toward the 
east, was ‘shrouded along its top with those 
exquisite mist-vails that wavered and parted 
only to close in deeper gray, hiding what lay 
beyond from the eyes of the world that beautiful 
morning. 

Allan laughed easily, turning aside from the 
picture spread before him, and he again laughed, 
as he threw the bridle to the lad coming around 
to the steps at his call. 

“ An early arrival, eh, my boy ?” he asked, 
lightly, as he lifted his hat that the breeze from 
over the lakes could cool his brow. Was the 


The Beginning of Difficulties. 6i 


night but a dream, after all? “ I hope I’m not 
too early for breakfast, for I’ve as ravenous an 
appetite as an early ride can give one !” 

The boy grinned as he slipped the bridle over 
his arm and gave the horse’s soft nose a sly 
pinch, to make him start and toss his head. 

“ Guess you ken get suthin’ to eat, though 
’tain’t breakfas’-time yet,” he said. We’s fash’- 
nable hyar in summer, you know !” 

Allan laughed and tossed him a quarter, which 
he caught dexterously. 

“ See that the horse has as good a breakfast as 
I,” he said. “ He’s had a pretty hard pull since 
yesterday.” 

Then he bit his lip, and turned away hastily. 
The boy would know it had not taken him since 
the previous day to ride over from the lake. He 
must be on his guard and say nothing to rouse 
questioning. They would think he gained an 
early start, after remaining over night at Sara- 
nac, if he offered no explanations. As to the 
liveryman of whom he hired the animal, he could 
make it right with him. 

He went up to the clerk in the office and asked 


62 The Beginning of Difficulties, 


if his room was ready for him. He had tele- 
graphed for it a week previously. 

“Mr. Mansfield? Oh, yes, certainly!” The 
clerk was most affable. Ringing a bell beside 
him, he bade the boy who answered it to show 
the gentleman to No. 19, and after entering his 
name on the register, Allan mounted the stairs 
with his escort. 

After a cup of coffee, which he ordered brought 
him at once, he threw himself upon the bed fora 
snatch of sleep, that he might be more himself 
when meeting Edith. He would not meet her 
in his present discomfited state of mind. He 
would be at his best always in her presence. His 
slumber was as sound and refreshing during the 
couple of hours he spent in oblivion as though 
he had slept the night through, and he opened 
his eyes upon a new world to him, with the 
knowledge that within the hour he would be 
with the girl whom he had braved death to meet, 
but who could not know what he had endured 
during her night’s dreaming. 

He sprang from the bed, and soon went down 
to the dining-room with as sharp an appetite as 
though he were not in the strongest state of 


The Beginning of Difficulties, 63 


excitement at the thought of whom he was to 
meet there presently. 

As he entered the room his eyes swept the 
tables for her bright face, and he did not look in 
vain. She was near the window opening upon 
the cool view without; and, crossing the room, 
quite oblivious to the looks leveled at him from 
other as pretty eyes, he was welcomed as frankly 
and sweetly as he had known all along was wait- 
ing for him. 

“ You must have started early, to have 
reached us at this hour, Mr. Mansfield,” said 
Edith, with her soft, low laugh, a swift glance 
from under the curled brown lashes repaying 
him for any exertion he may have made in her 
behalf. “We do not usually have such early 
arrivals. There are generally stated hours of 
arrival and departure ; but, then, you never do 
follow the rules laid down for commonplace 
people !” 

How charming she was, and how sweet ! 
Was she not in truth enough to sweep from 
one’s mind any hardships he may have had to 
pass through for her sake ? 

“ And, of course, you will join our little 


64 'I'he Beginning of Difficulties, 

breakfast party ?” added this same sweet voice, 
with a small nod of the bright head, and a dim- 
ple appearing at the corners of the red mouth. 
“ There is just room enough for one more, and, 
of course, we could not ask for a more enter- 
taining companion than Mr. Mansfield.” 

“ And equally of course no one could be more 
grateful for the invitation than Mr. Mansfield !” 
replied Allan, quite himself, though his pulses 
were fluttering under the glances from those 
bright eyes. Besides, I am in an uncivilized 
state of hunger ! I think I never enjoyed more 
thoroughly a ride before breakfast than I did 
this morning. Of course you have already dis- 
tinguished yourself with oar and rudder. Miss 
Hallston?” 

She shrugged her pretty shoulders and 
laughed. 

“Y-e-s, I suppose you would call it distin- 
guishing myself, Mr. Mansfield. At my first 
attempt, I came near drowning myself and poor 
Mrs. Castlemon ; at the second, I somehow for- 
got my orders and steered straight into a boat 
that was crossing our bow and — Oh, well, there 
will be no trouble for you to comprehend the 


The Begimiing of Difficulties. 65 


consequences ! They threatened me with all 
sorts of dreadful punishments. Mrs. Castlemon 
was the only one who had the sweetness to 
uphold me !” 

Allan looked quite overcome. 

“ I hope you were not really hurt in either 
case, Miss Hallston. Was there no one to come 
to your assistance T 

“ Oh, yes !” She laughed. She was torment- 
ing him, and what woman would not have 
known it? She lifted her eyes for one moment 
to his with that expression of wickedness he had 
by that time become pretty well acquainted 
with. “ There was not any particular danger, I 
suppose, if I had not gotten so frightened 
myself. But when I felt myself going down the 
first time, I lost all control, and screamed fit to 
wake the dead. Anyhow, Mr. Montgomery 
told me so afterward — ” 

“ Mr. Montgomery ?” There was danger as 
well as anxiety in Allan’s eyes as he put this 
interrogation. He was not the man to sit 
tamely down and be outwitted by a man. If 
this Mr. Montgomery knew what was well for 


66 The Beginnmg of Difficulties . 


him, he would betake himself off at once and 
leave the coast clear for Mr. Mansfield. 

Again that tormenting dimple around the red 
mouth. Again that swift, flashing glance straight 
into his. The pretty shoulders were shrugged 
daintily, as Miss Hallston replied : 

“ Yes. Mr. Arthur Montgomery. He hails 
from Canada, so he told me himself, and is 
very delightful company. We have been very 
good friends since that day — ” 

“ The day he saved your life ?” There was an 
ominous growl in Allan Mansfield’s voice. He 
cursed himself inwardly for not being on the 
spot at that most opportune time. What had he 
delayed his vacation for ? Was he to be beaten, 
after all, by some fool by the name of Arthur 
Montgomery, from Canada? 

Miss Hallston recognized his fine show of 
wrath, but was, so far as appearances went, 
utterly unconscious of it, as she said, sweetly : 

“ W-e-1-1, yes, he did save my life, 1 suppose. 
Anyway, I was going under the second time, and 
I’m sure I didn’t know much when he finally got 
me out. Ugh !” What a tormenting creature 
she was ! Did ever any other woman know so 


The Beginning of Difficulties. 67 


thoroughly how to drive a man to despera- 
tion with her shrugs and pretty scowls and mis- 
chievous dimples? “The water was so cold! 
One doesn’t know how cold it is when one goes 
in without one’s own sanction !” The trouble 
upon her face nearly upset his equanimity. 
“ The lakes are very pretty, and it’s fun to bathe 
when one wants a bath of one’s own will, but 
when it comes to tumbling in promiscuously, it 
is altogether another thing !” 

“Altogether!” he corroborated, calmly, 
though he could have treated Mr. Arthur Mont- 
gomery, of Canada, to a good dose of the same 
unpleasant treatment. “ Now that I am here, I 
shall see that you are better cared for. Miss 
Hallston.” 

“ But you don’t know how well they do take 
care of me !” said Miss Ralston, with that dread- 
ful air of sweetness that was so distracting. 
“ Every one is so good to me, Mr. Mansfield ! 
You don’t know how good every one is to me. 
I couldn’t ask any one to be better to me !” 

Of course, she could not ask for better care ! 
Did he think she could, foolish man ? Didn’t 
he know she was tormenting him ! Couldn’t he 


68 The Beginning of Difficulties , 


see that she was but taking up her old mischiev- 
ous ways among the mountains that had kept 
him so uncertain of her heart the winter through ? 
It surely was short time enough since he had 
seen her to not forget her nature. 

A fellow couldn’t help being good to you !” 
he said, with great authority, as they rose from 
the table, presently. “ Even a savage would 
treat you with due respect. Miss Hallston.” 

She laughed gayly. This man amused her 
more than most men. There was something so 
tall and commanding about him, in spite of that 
open frankness that was like a boy’s heart. 

“ As I can’t put your assertion to the test, 
there being no savages nearer than the Congo, I 
shall be forced to take it for granted, Mr. Mans- 
field. Mrs. Castlemon and 1 are going over the 
carry to the foot of Whiteface, this morning. 
Are you rested enough from your trip to go 
with us, Mr. Mansfield ? I may give you the 
opportunity to take good care of me. They say 
I am always getting into some mishap !” 

‘‘ I shall be delighted !” He was alert enough 
then. “ Will you remain there long enough to 
have a small luncheon. Miss Hallston ? It would 


The Beginnmg of Difficulties. 69 


be quite gypsy-like, if you would care for it. 
Besides, if you should attempt any dangerous 
feat, we would have better provision for regain- 
ing your strength !” 

I suppose you will never tire of teasing me 
about that !” she said, with a frown upon her 
brow. “ I should not have told you, but I 
thought you would be sorry and take the better 
care of me, Mr. Mansfield.” 

What pathos there was in the sweet voice and 
in the lifted eyes ! 

Allan was quite beside himself with delight. 
He had not yet been distanced by any man, be he 
from Canada or from the most remote part of 
the earth — no, and he would not be, either, if it 
were in human power to make it otherwise. 

“ You know it is always my greatest pleasure 
to care for you,” he said, gravely, though he 
made no offer of warmer friendship. Allan 
Mansfield understood himself and the woman he 
was with too well to make such a mistake. 

Are there to be any others in the party, Miss 
Hallston ?” 

“ Would you wish others to come ? Have you 
any friend you would invite, Mr. Mansfield ? 


70 The Beginnmg of Difficulties , 


We grant you the liberty to invite any such. As 
to ourselves, we have invited no one excepting 
yourself and,” the slightest pause between the 
words, “ Mr. Montgomery.” 

Canada !” added Allan, unconsciously, 
between his teeth. 

Miss Hallston laughed merrily. She walked 
beside him in the most engaging unconscious- 
ness, as they left the dining-room, without so 
much as a blush at her own coquetry. There 
were plenty of eyes upon them as they passed 
from the room, and emerged upon the piazza in 
the shade where the breeze from the mountains 
swept the heat from the world. 

“ I am afraid you are not in the best of humor, 
Mr. Mansfield,” she said, wickedly. Did you 
rest well after your trip of yesterday ?” 

He laughed. Who could keep ill-nature long 
in the presence of that girl ? She was so fresh 
and frank and breezy herself, one must put aside 
all unpleasantness with her. 

“Well, I haven’t the slightest objection to the 
presence of Mr. Montgomery, then,” he said, 
gayly, “ whether he be, as I might say, from 
Canada or the Congo. Of course, he is hand- 


The Beginning of Difficulties. 71 

some and wealthy and young, but after all I 
have no fear of Miss Hallston giving place to 
new friends that belonging to the old. It isn’t 
her way.” 

“ At least you have faith in me,” she laughed, 
sweetly. “ If all my friends had as much faith, 
it might be more pleasant. Especially ” — she 
was going too far in this conversation, and must 
change the current — especially, when I attempt 
to drown them, and they refuse to be drowned !” 

“ Drowning isn’t a remarkably pleasant death, 
in spite of what others will say,” said Allan, 
calmly, well satisfied with her small self-defense ; 
“ but if I had to be drowned, I prefer its coming 
from Miss Hallston’s distinguishing attempts.” 

How gayly she laughed. 

“Then you’ll not struggle, or cry out, or make 
some dreadful remark about the clumsy work of 
some women, I suppose ?” she said, merrily. 

Then she added suddeijly, as though the 
thought had just occurred to her : 

“You remained over night at the Lake, of 
course. At what hotel did you stay T 

A slow deep flush rose to his face. He could 
no more repress it than he could have foreseen 


72 The Beginning of Difficulties . 


the question. What should he tell her? He 
had passed his oath to keep his night’s adventure 
a secret even from her. He could not lie to her; 
if he should, with the hope that it might be for- 
given him under the circumstances, she would 
undoubtedly find it out, and despise him. He 
had never attempted to deceive any one in his 
life that the tables were not turned upon him. 
And if he should give her this opportunity to 
mistrust him, might not this new friend of hers, 
this Arthur Montgomery, of Canada, step into 
his place in her friendship ? He would not 
bear that. He must manage to get through this 
false position in some manner. 

“ How warm it is here after the cool dining- 
room he said, quietly, standing very still 
beside her. “ I beg your pardon. Miss Hallston. 
You asked me — ” 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter !” She turned from 
him with a new, proud hauteur in her manner 
and voice. “You are not yourself to-day, Mr. 
Mansfield. Had you not better rest than 
attempt to join our exploring party ? Your ride 
was doubtless very tiresome this morning. You 
should not have attempted it so early.” 


The Begmning of Dijf cutties. 73 


He stood motionless, watching her moving 
away from him, powerless to detain her, power- 
less to explain why he could not reply to this 
question of hers as frankly as he had always 
replied to a question. 

“ Of course, if your party is filled — ” he began, 
angrily. But this was an injustice to her as well 
as to himself. Edith Hallston was not one to 
invite him if she had not truly wished his pres- 
ence. “ I am cross, there isn’t a doubt !” he 
added, and laughed, trying to be himself. But 
that, too, was a failure. 

Pray don’t make excuses,” said Miss Hall- 
ston, coldly, having paused a few feet from him, 
looking off across the lake to the mountain rising 
above the mists. 

Allan made a desperate move. He crossed 
over to her side and stood there as proudly and 
as coldly as she. His eyes were not on the 
mountain however ; they were upon the still, 
cold face beside him. 

“I did get here early, didn’t I?” he asked 
rather irrelevantly, with a forced laugh. “To 
tell the truth, I didn’t ride all the way out from 
Saranac this morning, though ! There’s a house 


74 The Beginning of Difficulties . 


— a sort of hotel on the road, you know. It was 
getting pretty dark before I reached there. 
That is preferable to riding so far through those 
woods, don’t you think so?” 

Her face lighted, but she would not relent too 
soon. 

“ It is not a desirable road to travel in the dark, 
I should think,” she said, calmly, still keeping 
her cold face from him. 

“ Had you ever attempted it you would dis- 
cover that for yourself, as you discovered how 
pleasant it is to be drowned !” he retorted, with 
his old free laugh. 

He knew she was relenting and would be her- 
self by and by. 

“ It is too bad you missed the stage,” she said, 
presently, a trifle more warmth in her voice, 
though she still would not grant him the ghost 
of a smile or softening of the rigidly proud out- 
lines of her face. 

The breakfast groups were breaking up. 
Some of the guests went to their rooms, others 
appeared upon the piazza and the grounds. One 
young fellow from among these latter, catching 
sight of Allan upon the piazza, left his friends, 


The Beginning of Difficulties. 75 


and ran up the steps, and over to him with 
extended hands and smiling face. 

You here at last all right, A1 ? Came up on 
the train with me, and never knew it till too late 
to run in partnership ! I came over in a livery 
rig. Got left for the stage, you know. Stopped 
at the hotel half way, you see, and took supper. 
Two of us, you know. George Jackson and 1. 
You remember George ? Good fellow — ^just the 
sort to travel with. The right companion, eh. 
Miss Hallston? How’d you come over? Stage? 
Didn’t know you were in the house till I saw 
you just now. Breakfasted? Earlier than I? 
That’s why I didn’t see you. And you’ve been 
here all night, and I never knew it! It’s a 
wonder we didn’t divine each other’s presence I” 
He was a good fellow — was this new-comer. 
He laughed and joked, and melted the coldness 
between the two friends, as they could not have 
done if left to themselves ; but Allan began to 
fear, after his mentioning that he and his friend 
had supped at that half-way hotel, that he 
would be discovered in his prevarication. He 
had not lied openly. He had merely given a 
small hint of the possibility of his having re- 


76 The Beginning of Difficulties , 


mained over night at that hotel ; but Edith was 
not to be easily blinded. All he could do was 
to keep as far from the subject of hotels and 
the road over as was possible. 

“ And where’s George ?” asked Allan, when 
his friend had pretty well used up his enthusi- 
asm at their meeting. “ He came over with you, 
you said ?” 

“ Of course ! We’re inseparable, you know !” 
And this new friend laughed easily. “ Chums, 
you know! Went to college and through all 
the scrapes as one fellow. Couldn’t be separ- 
ated. That’s friendship for you. Miss Hallston ! 
George’ll be down in a short time. He’s asleep, 
you see. And you stayed at this very hotel all 
night and we did not know it ! Why didn’t you 
look us up in the register?” 

Allan laughed. Things were growing awkward 
for him, but he must get himself out all right. 

“ How should I know you were here ? And 
why didn’t you look me up, pray ?” 

“ Tit for tat, eh ? Well, we didn’t look you up 
because we didn’t know you were coming right 
on. Saw you get off at the station back there at 
Saranac, but couldn’t catch you, somehow, and 


The Beginning of Difficulties, 77 


when we looked around for you, you were not to 
be found. You possess that faculty, you know. 
I’ll bring George. He’ll be immensely glad to 
see you.” 

“ I thought you said he was still sleeping,” 
said Allan, daringly. He would keep the con- 
versation off the dangerous topic as long as it 
was possible. Any subject was better than that. 

“ So he was the last I saw of him, but it’ll take 
me just five minutes to bring him up and down 
here, when he knows you’re here. I’ll try it, if 
you say so.” 

“ No.” Allan laughed. “ Don’t pretend that 
he’s such an intense admirer of mine, as that he 
would break his sleep for the sight of me an 
hour sooner than he otherwise would ! Any ot 
the other fellows here ?” 

No ; none that you know, I think. Unless — 
hold on. Do you know Montgomery — Arthur 
Montgomery ? He lives in Canada, and, as it 
happened, we struck company at Montreal. I 
was at the ice palace, you know. He’s a good 
fellow enough, but rather slow. He’d faint at 
sight of a bear. I’m positive, and would run for 
all he was worth if a wildcat should be within 


78 The Beginning of Difficulties. 


twenty miles of him. But he’s nice in his way. 
He’s good-natured, you know, and won’t take it 
hard if you run him a bit. He knows his defi- 
ciences as well as his friends do.” 

“ Oh, that sort of a fellow !” Allan hadn’t 
much fear of him, then. That wasn’t the style 
of man with whom Edith Hallston would fall in 
love. So far he was safe. ^‘No; I fail to 
remember the gentleman. Never met, I think. 
What sort of a looking man is he ?” 

“ Oh, goodish enough. Sandy hair, you 
know, and mustache and those light-blue eyes 
that go with that hair generally. It isn’t his 
looks that he goes on, it’s his good-nature. 
You simply can’t get him wrathy if you try.” 

“ He can’t have much spirit,” Allan said, for- 
getting for the instant the words were uttered 
that he was a friend of Edith’s, and had saved 
her life, “ to run from a bear in the Adirondacks 
where there isn’t such an animal — or mighty few 
— and never to lose his temper.” 

“ I think it is nicer to have a good temper 
than to be disagreeable as some people know 
how to be,” said Edith, sweetly, but with the 
deepest and direst meaning in her voice. It is 


The Begimiing of Dijfctilties. 79 


such a novelty tp meet such a man that one 
might be tempted to fall in love with him on the 
spot !” 

Pray don’t, Miss Hallston !” said the other, 
merrily, puckering up his brows ruefully. ‘‘ It 
might send him up in the seventh heaven, but 
what a low state it would leave the rest of us 
in r 

Oh, yes, and he saved your life ; one should 
not forget that !” said Allan, calmly. “ How 
did he ever come to do it if he is such a 
coward ?” 

“ But he isn’t a coward — ” began Edith in 
indignant protest. “ There isn’t a cowardly hair 
in his head ! But you may ask him, Mr. Mans- 
field, and he may be better able to tell you how 
he came to do it than I could. Here he comes 
at this moment.” 

“ Speaking of angels !” murmured the lively 
young fellow, with an amused smile around 
his lips. “ What do you think of him, Mans- 
field ?” 

Allan turned to view the newcomer, some- 
what eager to see for himself what this rival of 
his was like — for he classed him as a rival 


8o The Begimiing of Dijfculties . 


instinctively. As he was neither brave nor 
handsome, the danger lessened, but Edith 
upheld him because he was good-natured, and it 
had been his own ill fortune to show her a 
decided ill-nature that very morning ! 

He was rather short, the approaching man, 
and slenderly built, but there was something so 
pleasant about his ruddy face and sandy hair 
that Allan began to dislike him at the first 
glance. He appeared upon the piazza among 
the crowd with the utmost ease, and after a 
slow glance around, descried Miss Hallston with 
her friends not far from him, and lifting his hat, 
seeing that they were looking his way, he 
approached them. 

“You are late,” said Edith, sweetly, with that 
bewitching side glance Allan had thought 
reserved for himself alone. “ And such a 
charming morning, Mr. Montgomery! You 
came near being left behind by our party.’ 

He flushed, and murmured some apology, that 
was for her ear alone, and she laughed with all 
possible grace. 

“ Never mind. You are still in time. Mr. 
Montgomerv have you met Mr. Mansfield? 


I AM AFKAID YOU AKE NOT IN THE BEST OF HUMOR, MR. MANSFIELD,” SHE SAID.— Page 70 . 





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The Beginning of Difficulties. 


8i 


Mr. Mansfield, this is my friend, who I told you 
rescued me from the effects of one of my distin- 
guishments. You must be good friends. You 
say you have met Mr. Montgomery, Mr. 
Deland ?” 

The jolly young man bowed and smiled. Mr. 
Montgomery bowed and smiled also. 

“ I have had that pleasure. Miss Hallston. 
Glad to see you looking so well, Montgomery. 
The last time I saw you, you were pretty well 
done up by that rush down the toboggan slide.'* 

They laughed as over some pretty good joke, 
and then Edith said, quietly : 

^Mf we are going across the lake, we had bet- 
ter start while it is cool. The sun gets so dread- 
fully warm late in the day. 1 will find Mrs. 
Castlemon, and we will start. Do you care to 
join us, Mr. Deland ?” 

Sorry, I’m sure. Miss Hallston, but as I prom- 
ised Jackson to go over with him to Saranac on 
some business about his luggage, it isn’t possi- 
ble. You will let me go with you some other 
day ?” She nodded carelessly. 

In a few minutes they were off, a boy accom- 
panying them with a basket of luncheon ; but 


82 


Afzss Hallstons Attempt, 


the day was darkening for Allan Mansfield, for 
Edith had managed her affair pretty well, and 
was walking beside Mr. Montgomery, while 
Mrs. Castlemon was left for his own care. 

“ I wish he’d been at the bottom of the sea 
before he saved her life !” he muttered to him- 
self more than once during the day ; but this did 
not imply that he wished Miss Hallston had been 
left to drown ! 


CHAPTER VI. 

ONE OF MISS HALLSTON’S DISTINGUISHING 
ATTEMPTS. 

If you rode over on a livery horse, what are 
you going to do with the horse ?” asked Miss 
Hallston, abruptly. She had been walking on 
ahead with Mr. Montgomery, and paused sud- 
denly to ask this alarming question of Allan. 

It surely can’t walk back of it’s own accord, 
Mr. Mansfield !” 

No.” Allan was quite gruff in his reply. 


Miss Halls tons Attempt, 


o 


Her sweetness toward Mr. Montgomery, in full 
view of him, was working most dire effects upon 
him. There was scarcely a shred of good-nature 
left in him. It was quite past endurance, the 
way she could fool with old friends for the new. 
He would not have believed ife of Edith Hall- 
ston had he not seen and heard it with his own 
eyes and ears. “ Mr. Deland was kind enough to 
offer to see it back in the stable. You need not 
have worried about the animal. Miss Hallston.” 

Especially not that animal,’' said Mr. Mont- 
gomery, laughing. “There are suffering crea- 
tures nearer than a livery horse for your sym- 
pathy, Miss Hallston !” 

“ Are you suffering, poor Mr. Montgomery 
she asked, wickedly, an answering laugh upon 
her lips. “ It is intensely warm here so near the 
lake. Suppose we move further inland ? Under 
the shade of the pines it should be cooler.” 

“You will not find it particularly cool any- 
where under the mountain, with the wind to the 
northeast,” said Mr. Montgomery, with an air of 
great wisdom. If we could reach the top, we 
would not complain of the heat ; as that is 


84 


Miss H alls tori s A ttempt. 


impossible, we must make ourselves as comfort- 
able as we c^n where we are.” 

“ It would not do to venture far away from 
the lake and sight of the hotel,” added Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon. Mrs. Castlemon was a charming woman 
for companion. She had been Edith Hallston’s 
companion and chaperon ever since her mother’s 
death three years previously. She and Edith 
were the warmest friends. 

“ But we could not lose ourselves if we tried, 
so near the lake as we are, Mrs. Castlemon, 
dear,” said Edith, laughing gayly. “ That 
would be an adventure, even poor, luckless 
Edith Hallston, with her fate for getting into 
difficulties deep and dangerous, would never 
have the luck to meet with ! It would be alto- 
gether too new and delightful for me to attempt ! 
So you are not to worry, you dear, sweet Mrs. 
Castlemon ! Mr. Montgomery will take good 
care of me. He can, you know.” 

Mrs. Castlemon smiled. She could never be 
harsh with the girl, no matter what might be the 
girl’s fault. 

If we had brought a guide, as we should 
have done, Edith, there would have been no 


Miss Hallstoii s Attempt, , 85 


objection to our venturing as far inland as you 
desire,” she said, sweetly. “ As it is, we must 
content ourselves with the coolest spot we can 
find on the border of the lake, and in view of 
the hotel.” 

“ Dear, dear !” Edith laughed so merrily that 
the tears stood upon the long lashes. “ What a 
protecting creature you are, Mrs. Castlemon ! 
If I would only always follow your advice there 
would be no fear of falling into the lake and get- 
ting drowned, or swamping other people’s boats, 
and getting a dreadful lecture ! I shall some 
day learn wisdom from you. You are such a 
dear!” 

“ If it is the heat you particularly object to,” 
said Allan, coldly, but with an angry glance 
from under his frowning brows at Mr. Mont- 
gomery who stood on the bank where they had 
paused to consider their position, Edith’s hand 
in his, as he steadied her on the slippery, treach- 
erous grass, “ if that is your strongest objection, 
I think it would be well to go to the left, further 
in the shade. It is out of sight of lake and 
hotel, but quite near both to be entirely safe. 
Would you like to try it, Mrs. Castlemon?” 


86 


Miss Hallstons Attempt. 


Mrs. Castlemon assented without the slightest 
hesitation. Allan Mansfield was safely to be 
relied upon among those mountains. He had 
been there the previous year, and had hunted 
among the wilderness of pines so often that she 
had not the least fear to be guided by him. 

“ The mountains keep off the breeze so,” she 
said, wiping her sweet, flushed face with the 
smallest film of a lace handkerchief. “ I cannot 
endure the heat. Some way, it takes the life 
right out of me. Winter is my favorite sea- 
son.” 

“ Oh, but summer is so delightful for picnics 
and lawn-parties and hammocks and boating !” 
cried Miss Hallston, with great animation. She 
still stood poised upon the bank with her hand 
in Mr. Montgomery’s hand, looking down upon 
the two behind them, with a fine show ofgayety. 
What had the weather, hot or cold, to do with 
her young blood ? 

‘‘And to get drowned in,” added Mr. Mans- 
field, quite bitterly, glowering upon the charm- 
ing scene before their eyes. “ It might be a 
good idea to put your theories of drowning into 


Miss Halls ton s Attempt. 


87 


practice to-day, Miss Hallston. It would be 
cool in the lake, at least.” 

She shrugged her shoulders artlessly. She 
raised her pretty brows the least trifle. 

“ Couldn’t think of it, Mr. Mansfield. The 
exertion of overturning a boat would be too 
much over the pleasure of granting you the 
delight of drowning. It is much nicer to sit 
down somewhere here in the shade and eat 
something nice, and talk a little and sing — you 
sing, Mr. Montgomery — than to sit in the sun 
in a boat and simply bake !” 

“ Consequently,” said Mr. Montgomery, while 
Mr. Mansfield glowered more than ever at the 
soft insinuation that he should sing for her, “ we 
will find the cool spot to which we are bound, 
and take life easy the rest of the day.” 

“ Or, until dinner-time,” added Miss Hallston, 
with disgraceful haste. She was too healthy not 
to enjoy a good meal. 

They laughed. Even Mr. Mansfield relented 
enough to allow of smiling. It was very hard to 
keep at drawn swords with Miss Hallston. 

“ Oh !” She had let go Mr. Montgomery's 
hand, and was venturing in the search by herself, 


88 


Afzss H alls ton s Attempt. 


ahead of the others. “ Here is just the spot we 
were searching for. Isn’t it the dearest thing ! 
Even you couldn’t have done better, Mr. Mans- 
field ; and as lor a guide, Mrs. Castlemon, he 
could never have found this charming little 
bower !” She stood parting the bending bows 
of pine at the edge of the path ahead of them, 
her face peering out of the bower of green like a 
glowing picture. “ Isn’t this exactly what we 
wish, and could there be anything better, unless 
it were to be at the top of the mountain, where 
the breeze must be delicious? There is room 
enough for us, but not space for another ! Poor 
Dick!” turning to the boy. “You shall be 
lightened of your load at once, and can go right 
back to the hotel. It would be cruel to keep 
you with us. As to the basket, if it isn’t too 
bothersome, we will fetch it with us. If it does 
seem too much of a burden, we will leave it here 
under that tree — see ? — and you can come over 
for it some time when you want a run.” 

He knew enough of Miss Hallston to know it 
was not the basket alone he would get for the 
trouble. So he grinned in the most knowing 
manner, and set down the rather large and 


Miss Hallstoiis Attempt. 89 

decidedly heavy burden, just so it would be 
handiest to her, and turned away in the direction 
of the hotel, whistling cheerily but discordantly 
of— 


Down went McGinty to the bottom of the sea.” 

Edith laughed gayly, listening to the prohib- 
ited musical wonder. Mrs. Castlemon stopped 
her ears with her two pretty, white hands. By 
the way, Mrs. Castlemon was neither old nor 
ugly. She was, if that be admitted, even more 
beautiful than Edith. Her eyes were black, ag;^ 
soft in expression ; her complexion a pure olive, 
while the color in her cheeks — broken now and 
then by bewildering dimples — was like the warm- 
est hue of a rose’s heart. She sat upon the moss 
and pine needles, with Mr. Mansfield beside her, 
and Edith standing just beyond, watching the 
boy sauntering down the path toward the carry, 
Mr. Montgomery calmly and quite unconcern- 
edly fanning himself with his straw hat. When 
the boy was out of sight, Edith sat down upon 
the moss and needles, beside Mr. Montgomery, 
facing the other two. She sat with her back to 


90 


Jkfzss Hallston's Attempt, 


one of the slender pines, and leaned her head 
against the rough bark, tossing her hat upon the 
ground. As it happened, this hat was drifted 
by the faint breeze almost to Mr. Mansfield’s 
feet. This, however, he quite ignored, to all 
appearances. She even clasped her hands be- 
hind her head in a most charming and negligent 
attitude, and said : 

“I must be descending to melancholy ! It is 
the dreadful heat, and having nothing else to do. 
The only way to keep me from mischief is to 
keep me very busy.” 

^ “ Oh !” Mrs. Castlemon laughed, raising her 
brows quizzically. “ I see what you mean, Edith, 
my dear! It is the basket you desire to attack, 
and wait for us to ask for! You are hungry 
again, in spite of that breakfast !” 

“ But I didn’t eat much breakfast — not nearly 
as much as usual, you know, because Mr.- 

And then she came to a stand. The warm 
color rushed over her face. The dark eyes fell 
before Mr. Mansfield’s searching gaze. She 
frowned and bit her lip. It wasn’t comfortable 
to be caught so by her own words ! Then she 
lifted her eyes, bravely, straight to his, and in 


Miss Halls tons Attempt. 


91 


spite of the color still in her cheeks, continued 
her sentence slowly, but steadily : 

“ Mr. Mansfield came in, you remember, Mrs. 
Castlemon, and it seemed so like catching a 
glimpse of a home face — we knew him so well 
last winter — that it quite took away my appetite. 
You should have known how it would affect me, 
and have waited till after breakfast.” she added, 
laughing easily now, and giving him a kinder 
glance than she had favored him with since that 
first touch of coldness in her manner toward him. 

His heart somehow felt considerably lighter. 
She might come to her colors valiantly, and con- 
quer her agitation as she would and could, but 
he had not failed to see that tell-tale heart color 
rush upon her face, and he knew, however she 
might finish the sentence, she had, at heart, 
deeper meaning in her words than she would 
betray. So he, too, laughed, and looked quite 
his old self, meeting her eyes that would not 
flinch from his. 

And you should have warned me of your 
liable sensations upon my appearance so sud- 
denly, and I would have kept away with the 
greatest pleasure. Miss Hallston,” he said, lightly. 


92 


Miss Halls tons Attempt. 


“ Nevertheless, I wouldn’t object in the least to 
something very nice to eat, as I did poor justice 
to the meal myself. Will it be safe to venture 
upon provisions so early in the day ? If we 
should be shipwrecked, we would be quite with- 
out the means ot nourishment.” 

And there would be nothing left for you to 
portion out to each shipwrecked piece of human- 
ity with your small, white hands, as they have it 
in novels,” added Mr. Montgomery, gayly. 
“We would fall wofully short of dramatics. All 
we could munch on would be walking-boots and 
straw hats. Too dry by half! It’s always part 
ot a leather boot at least, and then I never noticed 
that the starved creature ever got farther than 
the top of the leg.” 

“ Nasty goat-skin, too !” cried Mrs. Castlemon, 
with a pretty shudder. “ Don’t bring up such 
disagreeable subjects as appetizers, Mr. Mont- 
gomery. I prefer peaches and jellies and chicken 
salads. Of course it’s nice to be lionized after 
the rescue, but the suffering and the dreadful 
looks of the poor, hungry things — ” 

“ And the dyspepsia caused by the indigesti- 
ble leather — ” added Mr. Mansfield, wickedly 


Miss Halls tons Attempt. 


93 


“ And the toothache from trying to bite into 
goatskin — ” added Miss Hallston, with twinkling 
eyes. 

“ And the pervading odor of boots — ” sug- 
gested Mr. Montgomery, all equally bent on 
teasing the pretty widow. “ It’ll never do — never 
do in the world, Mrs. Castlemon ! Please portion 
out to us calves’ foot jelly and the salad. Miss 
Hallston. We’ll report as favorably upon your 
bravery in doing that and the whiteness of your 
hands, as though we were — 

“ ‘ A shipwrecked sailor waiting for a sail — ’ 

Tennyson. Poetry and salads go better with 
the day and the subjects that an open boat and 
an open sea.” 

“ ‘ Under the spruce and pine. 

Who loves with me to dine ?’ ” 

whispered Miss Hallston, with wicked eyes, in 
return for their sallies regarding her office as 
waitress. 

“ Oh !” groaned Mr. Montgomery with rolling 
eyes. Fair creature, you have your revenge. 


94 


Mzss Hallstons Attempt. 


A poet and waitress in one lovely form ? When 
will the gifts of the gods be equally divided 
among mortal men?” 

“ But I’m not a man !” retorted charming Miss 
Hallston, with considerable vivacity. Men are 
never blessed with such gifts. It’s to the gentler 
sex the gods send their double gifts, Mr. Mont- 
gomery !” 

“ And poetry and calves’ foot jelly are quite 
appropriate for the present occasion,” joined in 
Mr. Mansfield, sturdily, doing justice to the 
dainty sandwich he held in one hand, the other 
occupied with an enormous piece of peach pie. 

“ And poetry is ever so much nicer than boot 
legs and the odor of leather, Mr. Montgomery !” 
championed Mrs. Castlemon, with a new bravery. 
She, too, was doing justice to the luncheon Edith 
had superintended. Perhaps it was the odor of 
pines and the freedom that gave them their appe- 
tites; anyway, they ate as only really hungry 
people can eat. They were in the heart of si- 
lence ; scarcely a leaf stirred upon the silver 
birches nearer the lake ; scarcely a bird note 
broke the tender hush. Even the sound of 
voices in the distance toward the hotel died 


Miss Hallstons Attempt, 


95 


away. When conversation died, sound died — > 
sound died, save that mysterious, mystical life 
that is in such a silence. 

“ I am so glad we came,” declared Miss Hall- 
ston, in a burst of eloquence, after such a silence. 
Her eyes held new light, her face an entirely 
new expression. She was a fit devotee to rest 
there in the heart of the hills, with their mystery 
and silence around her. 

Allan watched her from under his half-closed 
lids. He was stretched out upon the moss and 
needles, his elbow on the ground, his head in the 
hollow of his hand. Luncheon was over and 
they were resting, trying to keep cool in that 
intense heat. Allan could not understand why 
she had so suddenly changed toward him during 
their conversation on the piazza, and that was 
puzzling him considerably, as he lay there 
watching her from under his half-closed eyes. 

She may have felt his gaze. Who knows the 
workings of a woman’s heart or the subtle cur- 
rent of her wisdom ? Still leaning against the 
tree in that careless attitude, she let her eyes fall 
to his face. Quite steady her gaze was, not 
flinching or turning aside when she caught the 


96 


Miss Halls tons Attempt. 


gleam from under the heavy lashes. Not a mus- 
cle of her face changed, not a trace of deeper 
color rose to her face. That new, sweet, won- 
derful light deepened in her eyes. That was all 
the visible change, and only that was visible to 
the eyes of the man who loved her. 

It is good to be here,” she said, continuing 
after a dead pause. Her companions seemed too 
comfortable even to talk. “ Those little trivial 
things that cause one so much unhappiness out 
there,” with a motion of her head toward the 
hotel, her eyes never leaving the quiet face rest- 
ing in the strong hand, “ fall into such insignifi- 
cance in a silence like this, where everything is 
magnificent. Things hurt less when there is 
such a balm as this soft balsam odor, and the 
mystery of the mountains carries one’s thoughts 
beyond mere selfish, mean, untrue human life. I 
am glad I came — and glad that I came to-day.” 

The eyes under the half-closed lids did not 
change in their steady gaze into the eloquent 
face. Not a movement of the handsome, manly 
face changed. If she could conceal her heart, 
so could he. They were equal in that. 

Again the silence fell between them as though 


Miss Hallstoiis Attempt. 


97 


it fell down softly from the pines above. A 
laugh somewhere on the lake floated faintly, as 
though through a dream, to their green bower. 
No one spoke. Edith’s brilliant eyes seemed 
the only touch of life’s throbbing and pain. 

Mr. Montgomery, too, was lying lazily upon 
the moss. The languor of the day was in his 
face, but there was a gravity upon it. 

After a time Edith laughed. She rose and 
shook out the folds of her dress, as though she 
would shake out the marvelous wisdom of her 
words. 

I almost wish we had brought a guide with 
us,” she said, carelessly. “ I would like to 
attempt climbing the mountain.” 

A murmur of horror rose. 

“ Not in this heat?”’ cried Mrs. Castlemon, 
turning a shade rosier at the thought. 

“ With the sun so searching it gets even 
through this undergrowth !” cried Mr. Mont- 
gomery, again fanning himself with his hat, as 
though the thought quite overpowered him. 

“ And it is a long way to the top,” added Mr. 
Mansfield, calmly. 

“ And, dear me ! we’re all too lazy,” finished 


98 


Miss Hallstons Attempt, 


Edith herself, laughing gayly. “ You fail to 
appreciate the view and the breeze to be found 
at the top because of that dreadful climb in 
between. Oh ! that’s philosophy for you. 
Accept what you have rather than overheat 
yourself for better.” 

“ I am sure it is the salad,” murmured Mrs. 
Castlemon, with great apparent concern. “ You 
must be more careful what you eat, Edith, my 
dear.” 

“ No ” — there was not a trace of ill-nature in 
the girl’s heart — “ it is the fish sandwich, Mrs. 
Castlemon, my dear. Fish generates brains, wise 
men say.” 

“ Oh !” a gasp that quite extinguished the 
party. “ The air of the pines are having effect. 
Be careful how you betray such acquirements 
over there,” with a motion toward the hotel. 
‘‘ It isn’t safe — truly, it isn’t safe, Edith !” 

“For me or for them?”- and Edith’s pretty 
head motioned in the same direction. 

“ For both, of course,” and Mrs. Castlemon 
looked decidedly merry. There was never any 
telling what Edith would do or say next. 

“Well,” the girl sighed, and re-seated herself. 


A//ss Hal Is toils Attempt, 


99 


moving a trifle nearer Mr. Mansfield, to get 
away from a sunbeam that stole through the 
boughs, following the tree trunk, and struck in 
her eyes. ‘‘ Well, I suppose it will be the same 
a hundred years from now, whether I climb the 
mountain or stay where I am. It is only the 
difference of being more comfortable instantly 
or after awhile. I shall certainly go up there 
some day, though.” 

“ Sunset or sunrise is the best time,” said Mr. 
Mansfield, in his cool, unconcerned manner. 
“ But it would not be well to attempt it in one 
day. Miss Hallston. It is customary to go up 
one day and come down the next. The climb 
leaves one little breath. Besides, it takes some 
time to accomplish it.” 

“We will organize a party to go up soon,” 
said Mrs. Castlemon, by way of reconciling 
Edith. “ That will be the nicest way, and much 
more lively. We can go up for sunset. That is 
prettiest, I think.” 

“And there would be such a chattering of 
tongues, one would have no opportunity to 
appreciate the view,” said Edith, scornfully. “ I 


lOO 


Af/ss Hallstofis Attempt. 


hate a crowd at such a time, as you very well 
know, Mrs. Castlemon, my dear.” 

But we need have no crowd,” urged Mrs. 
Castlemon, calmly. She was not to be moved 
on such a day as that, when the least exertion 
meant more heat. 

“ But you know very well, that if one chooses 
a half-dozen, another half-dozen will in some 
way work in. It is sure to be so. You cant 
help it. It’s the fate of parties !” 

“ Well, some day I shall go up all by myself 
and a guide,” said Edith, with calm decision. 

And it will be before the crowd, too, I assure 
you, Mrs. Castlemon!” 

^‘Well, well, Edith!” She could not even 
argue with this determined young lady upon 
such a day. Of course, you will do as you 
wish, as you always do.” 

‘‘ Of course !” and Edith laughed. Then she 
sighed and resumed her former position, with 
her hands behind her head and her eyes looking 
out between the close boughs of pine, away from 
her companions, as it was evident her thoughts 
were. 

And again silence fell upon them. Mrs. Cas- 


Miss Hal Is tons Attempt. loi 

tlemon even closed her eyes after a vain attempt 
to read the novel, and Mr. Montgomery was 
either asleep or dreaming day-dreams, for his 
eyes, too, were closed, and he did not stir. 
Allan Mansfield remained quite immovable, 
looking up and up through the green to the tiny 
hint of blue, miles — how many miles? — above. 
He lost the thread of their conversation. 
Edith’s voice mingled in his thoughts, but he 
lost sight of her. The previous night returned 
to him, with its danger and mystery. The 
woman’s face and voice came back as clearly as 
though she herself were before him. He could 
even see the rising and falling of her bosom as 
she leaned toward him, yet with that unmistaka- 
ble commancf for him not to touch her, and her 
glowing eyes as she gave him his oath that 
would save his life, but must always remain a 
mystery until the time should come — if it ever 
did come — when she herself would make plain 
her meaning in her mystery. It was, when he 
came to think of it, a terrible oath, for already it 
was falling over his life, darkening the frank 
friendship between himself and the girl for 
whose good opinion he cared most in life. 


102 


Miss Hallstons Attempt, 


Already it was laying its hold upon him with its 
mystery and mastery. A few words. Some 
might even break the few simple words so easily 
uttered. But Allan Mansfield — never! He 
took the oath, knowing of the possible outcome, 
and he would keep to it, though it should wound 
him to the life. 

Besides — and here he caught his breath 
swiftly — had the woman not said it would bring 
death upon not only himself but the one nearest 
and dearest to him if he betrayed her 1 Even so 
much as a hint of what he had passed through 
must remain buried in his own heart till those 
twelve months should pass. Twelve months 1 
What might not happen in twelve months of 
thirty days each ? What might not come to 
him to darken his life of three-score years and 
ten I 

He started as the thoughts crowded upon him, 
and struggled to his feet as though he would 
strike out in the wilderness and fight this mys- 
terious battle alone. He forgot the heat and 
the exertion. He forgot everything but that 
this oath might come between him and the girl 
for whom he cared the most in the world I 


Miss Halls tons Attempt, 103 

He started to his feet and stood there for an 
instant, motionless. Something was wrong. 
For a moment he could not comprehend what 
this was, but that there was something happened 
that should not have happened. He rubbed his 
eyes, misbelieving that he could have fallen 
asleep. He looked this way and that, started 
forward aixd peered through the boughs beyond, 
on all sides, listened and waited. Nothing could 
he see or hear, save that low, distant laugh upon 
the lake. 

He had been asleep then ! His thoughts were 
not merely waking thoughts, but partly the 
nightmare fancies of sleep ! The peril of the 
night before had come to him with a half warn- 
ing. There was reason in his dread. 

He trembled, and grew suddenly white around 
the stern mouth. A new expression came into 
the eyes still searching the green distance. As 
though he were blessed with comprehending what 
was not seen, he knew what had happened : 

Stopping, he laid his hand upon Mr. Mont- 
gomery’s arm, and called excitedly to him : 

‘‘Oh, I say, Montgomery! Wake up, will 
you ? Miss Hallston has gone !” 


104 


A n Inconsistent Woman. 


/ 


CHAPTER VII. 

AN INCONSISTENT WOMAN. 

Montgomery was upon his feet at once, as 
Allan’s shout told him of Miss Hallston’s disap- 
pearance. He rubbed his eyes bewilderedly, 
and looked at Allan as though he could not com- 
prehend what was meant by his words. What 
if Miss Hallston had gone ? So far as he could 
see, there was nothing particularly alarming in 
it. But Allan’s excited face left little doubt that 
it was something beyond the mere disappearance 
of the girl. Mrs. Castlemon, too, was thoroughly 
roused by the excited voice. 

“ What do you mean ?” demanded Mr. Mont- 
gomery. 

Can’t you see?” cried Allan, scarcely aware 
of how he expressed himself in his alarm. 
“Can’t you see, man? She has gone!” He 
pointed to the empty seat under the pine, and 
the disappearance of the hat that had lain on the 
moss at his feet. “ She has taken her hat. She 


An Inconsistent Woman. 


05 


wished to climb the mountain, knowing nothing 
of the dangers attending such an undertaking, 
and no one knows how long she has been gone, 
nor how far she may have gotten. Perhaps you 
don’t comprehend, either of you, what all this 
means, for you may not know the mountain as 
well as I ; but the only thing to do is for us to 
follow her as well as we can guess her route. 
She can so easily get lost in the thick under- 
growth !” 

Montgomery was himself instantly. It came 
to Allan even then what a strange man he was — 
coward, and yet brave ! Mrs. Castlemon did 
not, as Allan feared she might, lose her self-com- 
mand. She stood beside them, her face quite 
white, but perfectly under her control, only her 
hands clasped convulsively before her, her eyes 
searching the faces at her side. 

“ What way will you take ?” 

How quiet her voice was! Allan looked 
down upon her with sudden confidence in her 
power. Mr. Montgomery did not speak. Allan 
would lead the way ; it was only for him to fol- 
low. That was no time for words, for it must 
have been considerable time since the girl left 


io6 


Ajl Inconsistent Wo^nan. 


them. The sun was past the meridian. At the 
very least, she must have been gone two hours. 

“ There may be no danger,” Allan said, and he 
kept his voice quiet by strength of will. “We 
must prepare for the worst, that is all. The 
mountain is not one to easily venture upon with- 
out a guide, even for a man ; it is doubly danger- 
ous for a woman. We will take the path that 
runs past this hollow. She would be most likely 
to follow that. If she continues in the path, we 
may have no difficulty. If she strays — ” 

“ Don’t wait !” said Mrs. Castlemon, hurriedly. 
“ Is there anything I can do ? Tell me if there 
is, and then go — ” 

“ Would it not be well,” Montgomery broke 
in here, his voice steady and cool, “ for Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon to go quietly back to the hotel and send 
a guide over? She can do this without excit- 
ing any one. Miss Hallston would not wish any 
excitement. Go to the clerk and make him 
understand thoroughly what you want, and he 
will do it.” 

* “ But better still ” — Allan was searching his 
pockets ere the other finished — “ take this card 
to Mayne; he’s the best guide in the place. Tell 


All Inconsistent Woman, 


107 


him about this. There isn’t a step on these 
mountains that he doesn’t know, I believe. 
Don’t tell another soul !” 

“ And you will come out upon the carry a few 
feet back here,” said Montgomery, quietly, his 
eyes upon the steady black eyes lifted to his with 
a strange expression in them. “ You cannot get 
from the path if you are careful.” 

A slow, soft smile stirred her lips. A faint 
color returned to her white cheeks. 

“ Do not think of me,” she said, and turned 
away, that they need delay no longer. 

Mr. Montgomery turned and looked after her, 
as Allan led the way from the bower in the oppo- 
site direction from that taken by her. His com- 
panion did not notice him. There was a peculiar 
expression in his eyes, and he bit his under- 
lip nervously, a puzzled frown upon his brow. 
Then he followed his companion, and the 
bower was left to its pines and mosses, with 
the ferns fainting in the heat of the searching 
sun. 

Neither of the men spoke as they strode 
through the close, bending boughs and tangled 
underbrush, pushing briars and twigs aside with 


o8 


A fi Inconsistent Woman, 


ruthless hands, regardless of torn flesh or torn 
clothing. Allan’s face was white and set. He 
comprehended more fully than the other what 
danger there was for the girl should she have 
left the path and wandered away in that dense 
growth, with the boughs above her so thick she 
coiild not discover the direction of the lake or 
the hotel. It would seem a comparatively easy 
thing for her to recover the path should she 
have left it, or to take the descent, and so come 
at last to the lake that must eventually bring her 
in view of the hotel. But it was a more diffi- 
cult thing than it would appear. The thick 
underbrush would confuse her. The heavy 
boughs were impenetrable. To find the path 
again, should she have left it, might and might 
not be possible. 

Allan Mansfield himself had been lost upon 
that same mountain, and he knew what the dan- 
ger was for the girl so full of life and daring. 
She would scarcely realize her danger till too 
late to remedy it. 

It was warm, intensely warm. The men 
pushed their hats back upon their heads and 
strode on, the perspiration in great drops upon 


An Inconsistent Woman. 


109 


them, their faces aflame with heat and hurry and 
the exertion of climbing in that stifling atmos- 
phere. They did not seem to have thought that 
this search upon which they were bent might be 
an unnecessary one; that the girl might have 
wandered only around their retreat, or down to 
the lake shore, or back to the hotel, as a joke 
upon them, never thinking of the consequences. 
They seemed to have some certainty that she 
had gone astray upon the mountain, and that dan- 
ger was around her that might threaten her life. 
Neither asked of. the other why this certainty 
should have possessed them. It had come to 
Allan like a flash of intelligence, and this had 
fallen upon his companion in the same unac- 
countable manner. 

In the meantime, Mrs. Castlemon returned to 
the hotel. She did not return as they had gone, 
for there might be those upon the piazza who 
saw their departure who might question her as 
to the cause of her solitary return. She would 
keep any hint of what had occurred away from 
the knowledge of the gossipy tongues that had 
so little to talk about that this would be like a 
draught of fresh water to a thirsty soul. Instead 


1 10 


An Inc 071 si stent Woman. 


of crossing the carry and the road to the slope 
of the hotel lawn, she turned aside and went 
around to the rear entrance, feeling quite certain 
that she had not been observed. 

There she lingered for a moment for a glass of 
water, saying simpl}^ that she had walked some 
distance in the sun and was slightly overcome 
by the heat. After that, in the most iincon- 
cerned way, with such a pretty smile in her eyes 
and around her lips that not one who heard her 
could have hesitated to do whatever she should 
desire, she asked of them who Mr. Mayne was. 
She had heard, she said, softly, that he was one 
of the best of guides, and she was thinking of 
making up a party to climb Whiteface, and, of 
course, if he were so excellent, she would wish 
to secure him for their party. 

It was all very plausible, and they smiled upon 
her in return for her graciousness, and replied 
that Mayne was indeed one of the best of guides, 
but, at present, he was engaged for a hunt, and 
would not return for several days. 

“ Oh, dear !” How well she played her part ! 
“ Then I will either have to wait for him to 


An Inconsistent Woman. iii 

return or engage some one else ! Who is the 
next best to him — if there is any next best?” 

“ Yes, surely.” One or two pairs of eyes took 
on a darker expression at this praise of one 
special guide. There were other guides, and 
she should have known of that. Mayne was not 
a friend to all those in the servants’ hall. 
“ There’s Daily,” one of them suggested, slowly, 
a certain scowl upon her face. The girl who 
spoke was a pretty waitress. “ Daily’s as good 
a guide as you’ll find, I guess, Mrs. Castlemon. 
He'll go with you, maybe. It’s hard to tell for 
certain. They are mostly engaged for a long 
way ahead.” 

“ Will you find him for me now?” coaxed that 
persuasive voice, the smile still upon the pretty 
lips. “We have been planning an excursion, 
and I want to get ahead of the others and have 
arrangements made before they know of it !” 

“ I’ll see if he’s about the place,” said the girl, 
willingly, tying her apron-strings into a fresh 
bow. 

Mrs. Castlemon smiled steadily. One would 
never have guessed for what she had come. 

“ You are pretty enough as you are, Estelle !” 


I 12 


An Inconsistent IVoman. 


she said. ‘‘ He couldn’t refuse your request if 
he had the hardest of hearts !” 

The girl laughed shyly. She was pretty, and 
she knew it, and the guide was a handsome fel- 
low. Any girl of her acquaintance would be 
glad of his favor. Mrs. Castlemon had won her 
heart. 

Mrs. Castlemon passed on calmly to the office 
leaving word for the guide to go to her there, 
should he be found. How could they know 
that her heart was throbbing heavily with doubt 
and fear? How could they know that it 
might be upon an errand of life or death she 
would send him ? At one end of the room, 
where the breeze crept coolly in through the 
open, shaded window, she sat down at a small 
table and waited. One of the clerks came up 
to her. There was something in her face, in 
spite of her wonderful self-control, that betrayed 
her agitation. 

“ Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. 
Castlemon ?” Every one liked her. She was 
not only beautiful but gracious, with a pleasant 
word for all. “ It is very warm. Would you 
like a glass of soda or a lemonade? You can 


An Inconsistent Woman. 


113 

have it here, and it would rest you. * Pardon 
me, but you look somewhat fatigued.’' 

How kind he was, and thoughtful ! Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon was used to attentions, in spite of her 
being Miss Hallston’s chaperon and companion, 
but she iiever slighted a kindness, no matter 
from whom it came. That was her power over 
others. 

“You are very good.” She paused for a 
moment, looking very sweet, with a tender flush 
upon her cheeks. “ Will you order a lemonade 
for me, Mr. Endicott? The heat is quite over- 
powering to-day, and I have been walking 
in the sunshine. Foolish, was it not ?” Her 
smile was quite dazzling as she looked up to 
him from her seat in the shadow of the win- 
dow. 

“ It is not wise to walk at this hour,” he 
replied, with an answering smile. “You 
shall have the lemonade at once, Mrs. Castle- 
mon.” 

She sat quite still when he had left her, watch- 
ing the door leading from the rear of the house. 
Would that guide never come? Was he not 
there ? Could Estelle not find him ? What 


1 14 An Inconsistent Woman. 

might not this delay mean in the search for 
Edith ? What might not Edith be suffering 
there, alone upon the mountain, while she sat in 
the shadow waiting for her lemonade ! It was 
unbearable ! She could have found the guide 
in less time herself ! That girl, with her pretty 
face, would keep him chatting with her, when 
Edith might be in the utmost peril ! What that 
peril was likely to be, she had no definite idea. 
She knew really so little of such danger. 

Some one entered the door she was watching 
with such hungry eyes. Was it the guide? 
No. A wave of keenest disappointment swept 
over her face. She clenched her soft white 
hands in her lap in her excitement, but smiled 
coolly as Mr. Endicott approached her with a 
tiny tray bearing her order. The ice clicked 
as he set this down beside her, and in 
spite of her anxiety, the cool sound was refresh- 
ing. 

“ It is very good of you, Mr. Endicott,” she 
said, softly. “ You are always so thoughtful.” 

“ Perhaps it is because you are so thoughtful 
of others yourself,” he said, pleasantly. “ It is 


All Inconsistent TVonian. 


115 


good to be remembered,' you know, Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon.” 

She lifted the glass to her lips and touched the 
contents, although at that moment she saw a 
man at the doorway that instinctively she knew 
for the man for whom she was waiting. 

That is one of your guides, isn’t it, Mr. Endi- 
cott? I want him very much. We are to make 
up a party to climb the mountain soon, and I 
have to arrange about a guide. One has to 
engage them so long beforehand.” Again she 
laughed, and beckoned for the man to approach, 
and as Mr. Endicott left her, the new-comer 
came up. 

“You are Mrs. Castlemon? You sent for 
me ?” 

“ Yes,” she said, with as much graciousness as 
she gave to her warmest friend. “ Sit down here 
for one moment, please ; I have something to say 
to you.” Her quick eye swept the room for any 
chance curiosity-seeker. No one was there save 
the clerk at the desk and Mr. Endicott, who had 
paused there to speak to him. Then she pushed 
aside the glass of lemonade, and leaned toward 
him. 


ii6 An Inconsistent Woman. 

“You are well acquainted with the opposite 
mountain, Mr. Daily ?” 

He nodded positively. 

“As well as most on ’em, I guess.*' 

“ Listen.” She spoke softly without a trace of 
excitement, save the flashing of her eyes into 
his, and told the story of Miss Hallston’s dis- 
appearance, ending with: 

“You know the mountain, you say. Is there 
danger in her going like this, Mr. Daily ?” 

He looked at and through her, as though he 
had forgotten her, his mind upon her words. 
Then he said, slowly : 

“ ’Tain’t likely she’ll come out of it ’thout help, 
Mrs. Castlemon. ’Tain’t a safe place, that 
mounting, ’specially for gals ’thout guides.” 

“ No !” She could have expected nothing else 
for answer, but she looked disappointed. “We 
wish no one here to know of this. There is no 
help in excitement, and Miss Hallston would not 
like it. You will start at once to search for her 
in the most likely places, Mr. Daily?” 

“An’ the gentlemen?” 

“They started at once along the path that 
leads up the mountain, as being the most likely 


A n Inconsistent Woman, 


117 

one for her to take. But you are the one to go. 
Will you do so at once? Her friends will make 
it an object.’' 

A grim smile stirred his lips. An amused 
twinkle came into his eyes. 

“ Hain’t got no objection to going, Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon, ma’am ; but ’tain’t a very likely job. 
Nevertheless, I’ll go — I’ll go at once. Miss 
Hallston is the young leddy with the bright 
eyes, and the smile and the pleasant voice ? Yes ; 
I thought I knew her. I’ll go at once, ma’am.” 

And you’ll find her ?” 

“ If I can.” Then, seeing the swift flash of 
fear in her eyes, he added: ‘‘Don’t you fret, 
Mrs. Castlemon, ma’am. I’ll find her. It’s 
easier finding her this time of day than though 
’twas night.” And with an awkward but hearty 
bow he left the office and the house. 

Mrs. Castlemon, sitting at the window, watched 
him go down the lawn whistling unconcernedly, 
swinging his arms, his hat pushed back, liis 
bronzed face in the sunlight, utterly disregard- 
ing the intense heat of the early afternoon. 
Then, sipping the last of the lemonade, she rose 
and went upstairs to her own room. She could 


ii8 


An Inconsistent Woman. 


do no good had she wished to accompany the man. 
She must of necessity have hindered his speed. 
She could not endure to go upon the piazza, 
where their friends were. Her room, overlook- 
ing the mountain and the lake, was the best place 
for her in her present state. 

The men at the desk watched her go from the 
room. Then Mr. Endicott turned to the other, 
saying : 

“ Remarkable woman, that ! As gracious as 
she is beautiful, and there isn’t much doubt of 
her beauty ! I don’t wonder Miss Hallston 
makes such a friend of her.” 

“ You’re not struck, I hope, Endicott?” queried 
the other, quizzically. 

Mr. Endicott laughed easily. 

“ No, not that, Gregory. She’s the same to 
every one. She’s that sort of woman, you know. 
A fellow can’t help admiring "her, but she 
wouldn’t let you come nearer ! She isn’t one of 
your married flirts. But I say, have you 
noticed that queer way she and Montgomery 
have together? They fight shy of each other, 
I should say. He looks at her on the sly, when 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 119 

she isn’t looking, and she treats him with 
the most elaborate politeness ; but there’s some- 
thing under it all, or, for once, I’m mightily mis- 
taken !” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

WORDS WERE MADE TO CONCEAL THOUGHTS. 

Out upon the mountain the heat was almost 
unbearable. The sun had reached the western 
slope, and was pouring down upon it through 
the thick growth of pine and spruce and tama- 
rind, striking even the briars and tangle at the 
tree roots into withering. Scarcely a leaf 
stirred ; scarcely a breath of wind touched the 
sweltering hills. 

Over toward the sunset line, a huge bank of 
thunder-cloud, laden with threatening fire, 
loomed up and up slowly higher and higher. 
The blue heavens, against this black, frowning 
background, were deeply blue, but even that 
seemed to threaten the quietness of the day. 


120 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 


a cloud touched the ether save that one 
huge black thunder-boat riding up from the 
west. A threatening calm lay upon the lake and 
the mountain. Not a bird lifted its voice to cry 
from among the green stillness. 

Allan Mansfield and Arthur Montgomery, 
almost overcome by the heat and the rush along 
the mountain-path, could not see the mounting 
cloud of storm at their backs. They would 
scarcely have thought of it twice, had they seen 
it. Their thoughts were upon the girl who had 
ventured along the ascent of the mountain, and 
who at that moment might be wandering 
farther and farther away from rescue and 
safety. 

There was nothing to fear from the attack of 
wild animals, for there were none such in that 
region. Never, excepting in the most severe 
and trying winter, was there bear or wildcat 
seen in the woods. Sometimes, when the world 
was deep in snow, and there was no way for 
them to get food, these animals wandered nearer 
civilization, sometimes even appearing upon the 
roads, but seldom dangerous. They were more 
likely to seek to avoid men than run in their 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 


I2I 


way. It was only from the danger of being lost 
among the heavy trees, and wandering far away, 
even to the other side of the mountain, and mak- 
ing it almost impossible to find her, that they 
would* rescue her. She was self-reliant and 
brave. This was their greatest difficulty, for 
she might stray further seeking new wonders, 
than she would were she timid. 

By and by they paused and stood panting, 
eying each other in dismay. Afar off they 
caught the crack of a rifle and the deep baying 
of a hound. This meant possibly new danger 
to the girl. Was it not possible that, whoever 
these huntsmen might be, they might run across 
Miss Hallston without seeing her, and a ball 
from their rifles threaten her life ? 

“ Think of it !” Allan exclaimed, hoarsely, 
wiping the beads of perspiration from his face 
with his handkerchief. “ What shall we do 
now, Montgomery?’' 

Some way, this mutual effort of theirs to 
rescue Miss Hallston broke down the barrier 
of jealousy and unkindness, and they were 
comrades with one aim. 

Mr. Montgomery, without speaking, leaned 


122 


Words Co7iceal Thoiights. 


forward to listen. He held up his hand to 
silence Allan, and showed signs of considerable 
excitement. 

What is it?” whispered Allan, unconscious 
of the fact that he had spoken in that tone. 
He leaned forward also to listen, and the 
excitement upon Mr. Montgomery’s face was 
reflected in his own. He started eagerly for- 
ward, regardless that his face and hands and 
clothing were torn and lacerated by their 
scramble through the underwood. 

“ Let’s shout,” said Allan, breathlessly, his 
eyes aflame. 

“ No and Mr. Montgomery showed the first 
sign of fear that had come upon him during their 
strange journey. “We might startle her if we 
shouted to her. She may be unconscious that 
she is lost, and- such a course might end in our 
discomfiture. She would enjoy teasing us if she 
thought she could, and did not know how 
serious this matter is.” 

Allan understood, and made no answer, as 
they struggled and slipped and scrambled up 
the path that had grown dangerously steep. 
Only by clinging to bending boughs and catch- 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 


123 


ing at briars and scraggy twigs could they make 
the ascent. To the girl, with her loose dress, it 
must be a hard climb indeed ! 

Above them they had heard the sharp crack- 
ing of twigs and the whirr of bushes parting and 
•closing, and although it was as probable that 
this might be the approach of the hunters as of 
the girl, they chose to believe the latter, and 
hurried as fast as possible in the direction of the 
sound. It did not come from the path, but off 
to the left, in the densest part of the way, and to 
make their passage through this was at times 
impossible, and forced them to give way and 
find a more open road. 

There was no sound of the girl’s singing. She 
must long before have gotten past that, and the 
thought of this caused Allan’s heart to quicken 
its beating, and his feet to hasten over the rough, 
slippery, treacherous moss and leaves and 
grasses. There was, in fact, not a sound nor a 
sign that would betray whether it were man 
or woman who stirred the silence of the forest 
with the breaking of boughs and the swinging of 
closing bushes. 

“ It’s unbearable !” gasped Allan, catching his 


124 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 


footing by main strength of the arm that caught 
the sapling beside him as he slipped upon the 
edge of a sharp bank. Then he stooped sud- 
denly forward and caught up something from a 
briar in front of him. 

“ What is it ?” asked Mr. Montgomery, half 
guessing, without reply. 

Allan held up a strip of soft dove-gray cloth 
with a scrap of pink ribbon upon it. 

There was no need of words. Both men recog- 
nized the material as a part of the dress worn by 
Miss Hallston. This, at least, was something 
tangible to go upon. She had come up the 
mountain ; there was no longer room to doubt 
that. 

Then the two stepped through an opening in 
this wild tangle of briar and bough into an open 
square of smooth slope and moss and ferns. 
Their entrance made little noise. This was well, 
as they instantly recognized. 

Miss Hallston did not hear them. She had 
seated herself upon a rock under the shade of a 
silver birch bough, whose leaves touched her 
uncovered head. She had tossed her hat upon 
the ground at her feet, and was arranging the 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 


125 


huge bunch of ferns and wild flowers and berries 
she had gathered. Her dress was torn, and her 
hands, moving among the bouquet, were 
scratched and bleeding ; but her face was 
flushed, and there was a half smile upon her lips. 

The men paused in silence, gazing at her. She 
had not the slightest knowledge of her danger, 
evidently. She sat as sweet and cool and self- 
possessed in the heart of the mountain tangle as 
she would in the parlor at the hotel. Then 
Allan, who was breathing hard, and flushed scar- 
let with the heat, reached out his arm and 
grasped his companion’s arm in a grip like a vise. 
He seemed to have been turned suddenly into 
stone. Every vestige of color forsook his face. 
He was white as death. 

Mr. Montgomery, turning toward him in sur- 
prise, instinctively followed the direction of his 
gaze. He, too, stood, as it seemed, rooted to the 
spot. There, upon the bough just above Miss 
Hallston’s head, swinging with the deadly slow 
motion of a moving branch, hung a small, green, 
glistening snake, its tongue thrust out and in like 
lightning, its head slowly nearing the bent, 
bright head beneath. 


126 


Words Conceal Thoughts. 


Look !” muttered Allan, in a smothered voice, 
that only his companion heard, as he loosened 
his hold of Mr. Montgomery’s arm and sprang 
forward. 

Miss Hallston was but a couple of steps from 
them, and her back was turned toward them. 
She had neither heard nor seen them. At the 
sound of the springing steps upon the ground 
beside her she started, with a lo\y cry. 

Allan had calculated well in his spring, and 
had grasped the serpent with one muscular hand 
just at the back of the head, and, wrenching it 
from the bough, had crushed it under his heavy 
boot-heel. It lay, a ghastly sight, at the feet of 
the girl. 

For one moment she stood, speechless and 
spell-bound, her eyes turning from the repulsive 
thing at her feet to the man beside her, whose 
swift action had saved her life. Their eyes met, 
and, for an instant, her soul met his, and a wild 
exultation and hope sprang to his face. Then, 
with a pretty shudder and grimace, she looked 
past Allan, a flash of wickedness in her eyes. 

“ Why wasn’t it you who saved my life, Mr, 
Montgomery ?” she said, calmly. 


Three are a Crowd. 


1:27 


CHAPTER IX. 

THREE ARE A CROWD. 

For a moment Allan did not move. He stood 
with his eyes upon Miss Hallston as though he 
could not credit the hearing of his ears. That 
she could so turn upon him with her nonchal- 
ance, when he had just saved her life at the risk 
of his own, was past his comprehension. And 
to affirm that she would have preferred his rival 
to have saved her ! Any one would have done 
what he did. It was nothing. No one would 
have stood inactive and seen the stroke that 
must have cost her her life. But that she could 
be so cruel to him whom, but one month before, 
she had claimed as one of her warmest friends 
was, perhaps, hardest to bear. 

But if she was proud, so was he. If she could 
turn from death with a laugh upon her lips, so 
could he. If she could so clearly show her pref- 
erence to his rival, so could he show her that he 
cared not at all. If she could treat him with 


128 


Three are a Crowd. 


scorn and turn from him to Montgomery, so 
could he treat her. Pride went, perhaps, as well 
with a man as a woman ! 

It was cruel payment for his act, for it was a 
brave act, treat it as he would, and Arthur Mont- 
gomery felt a great pity in his heart for the man 
who stood so cold and so proud where the girl 
had turned from him. For Arthur Montgomery 
was a warm-hearted fellow, be he coward or 
hero. Besides, men admire courage and fair 
play. So he did not answer Edith’s cool speech, 
but turned gravely to his friend — for he claimed 
Allan Mansfield as his friend, from that day — 
asking, with a slow distinctness that the girl 
could not fail to understand, and that brought a 
deeper color to her cheeks : 

“ Are you hurt, Mansfield ?” 

He laid his hand on Allan’s broad shoulder 
with unspeakable kindness in look and voice. 
But Allan could not bear pity at that desperate 
moment, and shook off the friendly hand with a 
chilling laugh, a half sneer marring the usually 
frank mouth under the fair mustache. 

“ Don’t trouble yourself, Montgomery,” he 
said, lightly. “ It is nothing, I assure you. Any 


look!” muttered ALLAN, IN A SMOTHERED VOICE.— Page 126 . 








Three are a Crowd. 


129 


one would have done the same. If you are not 
too much fatigued, we had better return. It 
will be harder going down than coming up, as 
we lost our reckoning in our hurry. We’ll have 
to judge from the sun. That is the only way we 
can hope to come out within a mile of our des- 
tination. It is stifling here !” 

Mr. Montgomery, like a true friend, would not 
be daunted by a few cold words. He laid his 
hand on Allan’s arm with some authority and 
pressed him down, as he said, sternly : 

“ I will not stir one step from here till you 
have rested, Mansfield. You are as pale as a 
ghost. Are you sure that devil did not touch 
you — ” 

Allan interrupted him calmly. He obeyed 
the strong hand and stern voice, but he laughed 
as he sank down upon the rock from which 
Edith had started in her surprise. 

“ You make too much of this, Montgomery !” 
he said. “ It is no more than you would have 
done if I had given you the chance. It is to be 
regretted that you did not do it. It would have 
given you a double hold upon Miss Hallston’s 
friendship. I seem to have been unfortunate in 


130 


Three are a Crowd. 


losing it. Nevertheless,” he shrugged his shoul- 
ders and lifted his brows gayly, ‘‘ ^ What’s one 
man’s loss is another man’s gain,’ you know. I 
declare, I am pretty well tired out! That was a 
tough struggle up the hill, wasn’t it ?” 

He scarcely knew what he was saying, but 
he would give the girl no opportunity to 
speak. Her words were few indeed, but they 
were enough. She should have no further 
chance to wound him. 

But, know Edith Hallston as he thought he 
did, he never guessed one-half her depth and 
force of character. She could be generous as 
well as cruel. She, was a woman in every 
true sense of the word. She was as brave in 
her way as was he, even as he could prove to 
her how utterly unmindful he was of her 
cruelty. With but an instant’s hesitation she 
crossed the space between them, and held 
out both her hands, a lovely color surging 
into her face, a soft pleading in the lifted 
eyes. 

As an admirer of good-natured people, I 
am an utter failure,” she said, with an attempt 
at a laugh, though it broke and faltered and 


Three are a Crowd. 


13 ^ 

broke down all thesfe fine barriers he had been 
building to meet her pride. “ It was hateful in 
me to say that, Mr. Mansfield ! I am so sorry 
— so very, very sorry ! Do you think you 
can forgive me? We used to be such good 
friends.” 

This last small plea carried away every 
vestige of harsh feeling he had let into his heart 
during the last few minutes. His face flushed, 
too, and her two extended hands were clasped 
closely in his with a warmth she could not mis- 
understand, as he answered, a ring of gladness 
in his voice, though he spoke very low : 

‘‘We‘ are good friends so far as I am con- 
cerned, and could never be otherwise. Miss 
Hallston. Only you must acknowledge, it 
wasn’t nice of you to tell me to my face that you 
would have preferred having Mr. Montgomery 
kill that snake ! Indeed it wasn’t nice of you, 
and you must acknowledge that ! It was down- 
right mean, and I didn’t think Miss Hallston 
could be mean !” 

“ I told you once that I could be awfully hate- 
ful, don’t you remember that?” she asked, leav- 
ing her hands in his. She would not be hard 


132 


Three are a Crowd. 


with him again. He had saved her life, and in a 
manner different than even the daring plunge 
Mr. Montgomery took for her, that day on the 
lake. Some way it was very nice to feel that 
she owed him this debt of gratitude. “ But — ” 
all this lovely flushing and smiling and shy, 
sweet lifting of those beautiful eyes was for 
him — “ But I didn’t memt it, as you must have 
known, Mr. Mansfield ! I couldn’t have meant 
it, you know !” 

All this was very pretty and decidedly inter- 
esting for those concerned in it, but for another 
fellow to stand by and see the fun, was not so 
delightful. Mr. Montgomery was a good- 
natured man, and glad that this reconciliation 
had taken place, but it came into his head before 
it came into the heads of the others, that they 
should start upon their return as soon as possi- 
ble. So he ventured this remark in as concilia- 
tory a manner as was consistent with the great 
demand there was for haste. 

“ Oh, I say, you two, don’t you think it advisa- 
ble that we get back pretty soon ? It’s nearly 
four o’clock, and unless we do go Miss Hallston 
will miss the dinner ! Of course, they’d keep it 


Three are a Crowd, 


133 


for us, but it won’t be half so good. Besides, to 
my mind, it’s cooler on the hotel piazza than 
among this abominable briar !” 

Edith laughed wickedly. She drew her hands 
from Allan’s and shook out her dress with con- 
siderable unnecessary elaboration. Then she 
stooped for the bouquet that fell scattering upon 
the ground at their sudden appearance. 

You poor Mr. Montgomery ! Even the 
boot-legs haven’t sufficed for a day’s rations ! 
You are still longing for the good roast-beef and 
dessert of civilization? You are not even recon- 
ciled by the lionization to follow our return 
from shipwreck ?” 

He and Allan were helping her regain her 
flowers and ferns. Not a cloud seemed to touch 
their light hearts. 

“And you didn’t know that you were lost?” 
asked Mr. Montgomery, with considerable rel- 
ish, in return for her sarcasm. “ You didn’t 
know that if we hadn’t come in search of you, 
you might never have returned to civilization, 
Miss Hallston?” 

She glanced up with a startled expression on 
her face, and then laughed. He was onlv teas- 


134 


Three are a Crowd. 


ing her, she told herself. He could tease her 
sometimes with his appearance of truth, speak- 
ing in his grave manner. 

But, as we found you,” Allan hastened to 
add, catching this fear on her face, “ it is all 
right. Miss Hallston ! But, perhaps, it would be 
as well to hurry a bit. It wouldn’t be particu- 
larly pleasant to have darkness come down upon 
us among these trees and brambles. It wouldn’t 
be exactly an easy thing to find our way out. I 
had to stay through one night out here, last 
summer, and although the mountain is safe 
enough, so far as that goes, it is much more com- 
fortable at the hotel. It is chilly and damp, and 
rather — of course, this would amount to nothing 
really with such brave company — but it is rather 
ghostly in the dark. So we may as well follow 
your advice, Montgomery. It isn’t bad advice.” 

Mansfield took the lead and stood aside, hold- 
ing back an inquisitive bramble, that she might 
pass through the way they had come, Mont- 
gomery of Canada following. Their eyes met in 
that straight, full look that always set his pulses 
throbbing highly. 

“ It isn’t the easiest thing in the world to find 


Three are a Crowd. 


135 


one’s way back from any given starting-point 
here,” he said, quietly. “ Men who have thought 
themselves familiar with the place, have been 
lost before now. Miss Hallston. It is the thick 
boughs, you see, and the heavy undergrowth. 
You cannot at this moment point out the loca- 
tion of the hotel. You could not even accurately 
tell where lies the lake !” 

So, she owed her life equally to these two 
men. One saved her from drowning ; the other 
— she shuddered at thought of the possible death 
so near her. Both had saved her from — yes, 
even from death, it might be, there on the moun- 
tain, in sight of the hotel. How strange it was 
to know she had been so near death more than 
once within such short time, and that these two 
men had come between that and her. 

“ I never dreamed of that !” she said, softly, 
and she bent her head in passing him through 
the opening in the tangle he made for her. She 
would not have him know just yet how much 
this was to her. But did she dream he could not 
read the drooping, tender face so near him ? 

Silence fell upon them for awhile. The 
thoughts arising from their few words set a 


136 


Three are a Crowd. 


swift current adrift, and conversation died out. 
Besides, they had to choose their way of return 
with more care than the two men had chosen in 
their hurried search. They could not lead Miss 
Hallston through the dense tangles and rocky 
bursts and slippery banks over which they had 
passed, regardless of themselves. The easiest 
way must be found for her, if there were any 
easy way down that mountain. They dared not 
hasten too swiftly either, for they must pause 
now and then to get their bearings. 

• A new danger threatened them, too, at this 
juncture. Allan had noticed the darkening of 
the sunlight and the ominous stillness upon 
everything ; but he would not speak of this to 
depress his companions. Then, too, his heart 
was too light at that time to be easily cast down 
by any threatening of weather. That a thunder- 
storm was rising swiftly, he knew ; but it might 
be their good fortune to reach the hotel before it 
should break. They must reach shelter before 
then, he told himself, with a determined setting 
of his lips, ere the rain should come. It would 
be pretty rough for them if caught in the woods. 

But this ominous darkness at last made itself 


Three are a Crowd, 


137 


felt by the others. Mr. Montgomery, meeting 
Allan’s eyes at one time in descending a slight 
bank, lifted his brows questioningly, and was 
made no lighter-hearted by the slight affirmative 
nod he received. Even Edith paused presently, 
and turned upon them with swift thought. 

“ What is the matter?” she asked, anxiously. 
“ What makes it so dark all at once, Mr. Mans- 
field ? Are you certain your watch is right, Mr. 
Montgomery? You said it was four o’clock, 
didn’t you, back there? We haven’t been long 
coming this far, and it can’t be later than that ! 
Is it,” a sudden intelligence flashing in her eyes, 
striking a fear in them also, for if she was a cow- 
ard at any time, it was during a thunder-storm. 
“ Is it ” — she caught her breath with a swift fear 
— “ a shower coming up ? Are we in danger of 
being caught out here ? Oh, this is dreadful ! 
Why did I come ? Why didn’t I wait, as you 
all advised me to, until we could go up some 
day together ! Poor, dear Mrs. Castlemon will 
be so frightened for me ! She knows what a 
coward I am at such a time ! Oh, I don’t see 
why I didn’t wait and have some common sense. 
I might have known I couldn’t get up there 


138 


Three are a Crowd, 


without some one to show me ! I might have 
believed at least.” She mentioned no name, 
but her eyes were upon Allan’s, and sent him to 
the seventh heaven with alacrity. And I have 
brought you here — you will be caught in it, too 
— we all will, maybe, be lost — ” She was grow- 
ing somewhat incoherent. Her eyes were elo- 
quently looking into Allan’s, but this was not 
particularly comforting to Mr. Montgomery. 

Allan laughed easily, and lifted her down from 
the bank as though she were a child instead of a 
young woman of considerable weight. It was 
very necessary that he should place her care- 
fully upon her feet, and this was not to be done 
in one short instant of time. He could feel her 
heart throbbing against his arm, her soft hands 
upon his shoulders. 

“ If we are careful and do not lose our heads, 
we will get back in time,” he said, calmly. ‘‘ As 
to you being a coward. Miss Hallston, we know 
better than that. You have proved otherwise, I 
am sure.” 

You’ve never had an opportunity of judg- 
ing,” she said, quite fretfully. “ I am dreadfully 
afraid of thunder and lightning, and the wind 


Three are a Crowd, 


139 


that comes with them ! I think I shall just die 
of them if we don’t hurry and get home before 
they reach us !” 

“ It would take some time for the rain to reach 
us, if it does come, Miss Hallston,” said Mr. 
Montgomery. “ The boughs are so thick and 
close, we can escape much of the rain. But it is 
scarcely likely to occur, I assure you. We have 
still a good half hour of grace.” 

“ But we never can get down there in half an 
hour,” still protested the sweet, querulous voice. 
“ Tm afraid of thunder and lightning, and you 
can’t change me any more than you can make 
the storm wait till we get home. I just wish I 
had stayed with you. Don’t you ever let me do 
such a foolish thing agaiji, Mr. Mansfield ! Why 
didn’t you tell me I mustn’t come ?” 

He felt an insane desire to laugh at the possi- 
bility of his detaining her in the mood she had 
been in, but he would not allow the slightest 
quiver of his lips to betray him. Instead, he 
paused in the path to look about them. Some 
way, that did not look like the path they had 
followed as best they could, going up. If only 
the sun were shining, that he could judge of 


140 


The Nocturnal Sea. 


their direction. But overhead was darkness 
intense, and not a break of light showed above 
to betray where the west la}^ This darkness 
was creeping down under the pines stealthily, 
and would cast midnight upon them in thirty 
minutes. Those swift, terrible mountain storms 
were to be dreaded in such a position as theirs. 


CHAPTER X. 

OUT FROM THE NOCTURNAL SEA. 

Allan knew what was threatening them better 
than his companions, and, knowing, felt a chill 
upon him ; but he must keep this knowledge 
from Miss Hallston, at least, and if Montgomery 
did not know, at least there was bliss in ignor- 
ance. There was no wind stirring save a deep, 
hoarse growl of the motion of swinging boughs 
far above them toward the mountain-top. There 
was no break in the clouds, as one could catch 
glimpses of them through the branches, to 
betray which was their course toward home. 


The Nocturnal Sea. 


141 

The path looked strange. It was not even 
crushed nor crumpled, as their path must have 
been. 

All heard that vast sighing overhead, and Miss 
Hallston’s face grew white in the deepening 
gloom. She laid her hand on Allan’s arm, as 
though to be certain of companionship if harm 
were coming upon them. Not even the thirty 
minutes would be granted them, Allan said to 
himself, with the same grim determination to 
take things that must come, as he had the pre- 
vious night, when waiting in that little room, 
in the house among the woods, for what might 
come ! Not even thirty minutes to get to 
safety ! Hurry as they would, they could not 
get to the hotel, even in a straight course, in less 
than that time. Under the circumstances it was 
impossible to tell how long it might take them. 
He could not place their location ; he could not 
decide whether they should go straight down to 
the foot of the mountain or keep on in the 
direction in which they were facing. If that 
sunshine had lasted, they would have been much 
more certain of their reaching their starting- 
point within an hour. There were so many 


142 


The Nocturnal Sea, 


things to contend against, especially now that 

darkness was gathering. For himself he could 

♦ 

manage ; even Montgomery would doubtless 
get through all right : but for a Avbman it was 
an ordeal that he would have done much to 
prevent. The woods in such a storm would be to 
her terrible, indeed. There was even the possi- 
bility of that swift flame of death passing through 
the trees, with horror in its breath ! There was 
the attraction of the tall trees lifting their heads 
as though in defiance toward that very fire that 
would sweep them from its path when it should 
turn from the clouds and fall toward them. 

Allan’s face was almost as white as Miss Hall- 
ston’s as he stood in that one moment of time 
taking in the possibilities of this adventure. 
The girl’s eyes did not leave his face, and she 
seemed to read in it even more than she had 
feared. As for Montgomery, he was biting his 
under-lip savagely, as though he was uncon- 
scious of what he was doing. As for the report 
of the rifle upon the mountain and the baying of 
hounds, they had forgotten them. That others 
might be in the same peril as they, did not 
occur to them. Then Allan shrugged his 


The Nocturnal Sea, 


143 


shoulders as though it were very little matter 
about the storm, and said, with a laugh, and 
quite steadily : 

“ The best thing we can do is to try and reach 
that bower of ours below there. It will give 
us good shelter if the storm should overtake us. 
Of course, we will try to outwit it, but if there 
should be no way, we can play the shipwrecked 
mariner in earnest under cover of those trees* 
It will be quite comfortable, and we will keep 
drier. It will spoil your pretty dress. Miss Halk 
ston, but it can’t be helped.” 

She knew quite well he was putting on this 
brave face for her, and it gave her courage. 
She gathered up her dress with one hand, ready 
for a run, if that should be necessary, and tried 
to laugh with her old nonchalance. 

It’s no great moment about my dress,” she 
said. “ I can replace that easier than a head, if 
the lightning should deprive me of that ! I tell 
you, I am the most dreadful coward in a 
shower ! I am always sure and certain that 
every flash of lightning is for the express pur- 
pose of taking my life! To be sure, it never 


144 


The Nocturnal Sea. 


has ; but if it doesn’t some time, I shall believe 
it is because I am reserved to drown !” 

“ Or drown somebody else !” said Allan, trying 
to keep up the farce of cheerfulness. ‘‘You 
have already threatened me, so I should be pre- 
pared.” 

“ It seems to me, though, that it would be as 
well to prevent either occurrence, if possible,” 
said Mr. Montgomery, in a strange voice. “ I 
think you would find neither particularly com- 
fortable!” He was not only biting his lip in 
that savage manner, but there was a strange 
expression in his eyes, and a dark, bluish hue 
upon his face. 

Allan started when he looked at him. Was 
this evidence of his cowardice ? Deland told 
him he was a coward, in spite of having saved 
Edith’s life at the risk of his own. To be sure, 
he had been brave in this struggle of theirs to 
find Edith, but it might be that such things had 
no terror for him. After all, it might not be 
bravery that drove him to save the girl in the 
lake. There was a certain excitement about it 
that might counterbalance the risk. Surely, the 


The Nocturnal Sea, 


145 


man with that terrible look upon his face was 
not brave. 

But that was no time nor place to argue out 
such a point of character, no matter how inter- 
esting it might be. The storm was lowering, 
and threatening present destruction. There 
was a long, deep, awful peal of thunder, as 
though the earth were shaken to its foundation, 
a flash of vivid, bluish-pink flame cutting the 
heavens from end to end, seeming to rend the 
earth and sky ; a mad sweep of torrent wind 
down from the heights, bearing a sheet of rain 
and hail, and the storm was indeed upon them ! 
Edith uttered a low cry of abject terror, and 
clung to Allan with both trembling hands, as 
though he could shield her from the world and 
its demon spirits ; and with an effort he regained 
his self-command — for the sudden burst of the 
storm had shaken his strongest determination to 
be brave — and catching her hand, with a shout 
fo«- Montgomery to follow them, he hurried 
down the path recklessly, determined to find 
some shelter for the girl, whether in the home- 
ward route or not. 

The thought came to Allan, as they hurried 


146 


The Nocturnal Sea, 


along through the rain and wind and thunder, 
that this summering had opened most inauspici- 
ously, and if it should follow its beginning — 
But he would allow himself no such train of 
thought at such a time. He must give his atten- 
tion to saving Edith from more discomfort than 
was absolutely necessary. If they were only in 
the right path — one could distinguish almost 
nothing at such a time — they should reach the 
group of pines where they had lunched such a 
short time before, with the glaring sunshine 
-Upon the world, and that would shelter them 
considerably from the worst of the storm. 

It’s all right for us fellows,” he said to him- 
self, as he dragged Miss Hallston along through 
the dripping bushes that sent showers of icy rain 
upon them, along the path where the long grass, 
already drenched, swept their feet and draggled 
her skirts. “ It’s all very well for us, but it’ll 
never do for her. I’d give considerable if we 
had never ventured out to-day ! What a terri- 
ble thing it would be ” — he was growing gloomy 
in his thoughts — “ if the black fate that seems to 
have chosen me should fall upon those I love ! 
If she^'' 


The Nocturnal Sea. 


147 


He glanced back over his shoulder in search 
of Montgomery, as this thought came to him. 
But Montgomery was not to be seen. Allan 
could not believe his eyes. Even in the pelting 
rain he stopped short to listen, as though he 
could have hoped to hear anything other than 
the thunder and the wind and the rain. Edith 
was doubly frightened by the expression of his 
face. He shouted, but there was no answer. 
He shouted again and waited, but still the storm 
alone rocked the world. He was more startled 
than he cared to own. Why, he did not know 
and could not have explained. The proceedings 
of the previous night flashed back upon him. 
Could those robbers have been upon that moun- 
tain and have waylaid the man ? Could any 
harm have come to him through a false step ? 
Would he not have shouted, had such a thing 
occurred ? 

Edith was tremblingly clinging to him in her 
terror, her beautiful face pallid as death, the 
lightning flashing in her terrified eyes, the thun- 
der causing her to shrink closer to Tier compan- 
ion for courage and strength. Looking down 
upon her, his face as white as her own, Allan 


148 


The Nocturnal Sea, 


regained his self-control, and seeing nothing of 
their companion in another searching glance 
over the path they had come, he once more hur- 
ried Edith on through the storm and darkness. 
He must not betray to her what his fear was. To 
utter one word of the dread he possessed in the 
disappearance of their friend, would bring death 
not only upon himself — had not the woman said 
it ? — but the death of the one nearest and dearest 
to him. Had she some power of knowing what 
the future held that she should have given him 
that warning? Were not he and the one dearest 
to him alone upon the mountain, so far as com- 
panionship went? If he breathed to her his fear 
and his adventure, might there not come some 
terrible vengeance upon them both ? 

He shuddered as he thought of it. He held, 
still closer in his, the small trembling hand that 
was like a bird in its trembling, as though it 
would escape were there not some power 
beyond itself that held it back. He smiled 
grimly as this fancy came to him. The poor, 
little, harmless bird that might so easily be 
destroyed , at one word of a broken vow. How 
could that other woman have threatened harm 


The Nocturnal Sea. 


149 


to her? Did she know of whom she spoke in 
making him swear by his hope in her ? — by his 
love and his care for her ? 

But the storm continued and the rain swept 
the mountain-side like an avalanche, and still 
they did not come to the bower, nor to any end- 
ing of the treacherous path. Still the little, cold 
hand lay in his for help and courage, and they 
hurried along under the dripping boughs and 
the drenched underbrush, with the thunder 
rocking the earth, and the lightning ploughing 
the heavens with its sword of flaming bluish- 
pink. 

At that moment the path terminated, so far as 
they could see, in an embankment some six feet 
deep, and they paused on the edge to regain 
breath ere making the descent. Then, as Allan, 
who had reached the foot of the bank, was 
reaching up to receive Edith in his arms, the 
rain pelting full in his white face, the thunder 
crashing and rolling along the heavens like some 
great chariot-wheel, there came a swift flash 
from a revolver, a sharp report, and Allan, who 
had slipped upon the slippery bank and was 
regaining his footing, felt a swift pain across his 


The Nocturnal Sea, 


150 

temple and unconsciously staggered. Still lift- 
ing his arms for Edith, he called to her to hurry, 
and she obeyed. 

As he set her upon her feet, steadying her 
with one arm, he mechanically lifted his hand to 
his head where that strange sensation of pain 
was, wondering vaguely what the cause might 
be. As he removed his hand, a vivid glare of 
lightning struck through the trees, surrounding 
them in a ghostly light, while the deafening 
thunder, crashing overhead, stifled Edith’s cry 
of terror. 

‘‘ Allan !” He was somehow bewildered, and 
could not clear himself from the dazed feeling 
that had fallen upon him, but her voice struck 
to his very soul. “ Allan ! Allan ! What is the 
matter? What has happened? See! — look! 
There is blood upon your hand !” 

Arid then, and only then, did he realize that 
he had been shot ! 


The Mystery Deepens, 


15 ^ 


CHAPTER XL 

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS. 

With Edith still clinging to him, this new ter- 
ror upon her face, Allan stood for a moment too 
dazed to move or speak. Was this confirmation 
of his fear for Montgomery? Were robbers 
indeed upon the mountain? Was Montgomery 
in their power, and would they, in spite of the 
woman, be revenged upon him, and through 
him harm the girl at his side? Would they take 
the chances with the terrible storm to leave no 
trace of their work ? 

“ Allan !” cried Edith, for he had not answered 
her, and there was that in his face that drove 
from her mind any hard thought she may have 
held toward him, and left only tenderest pity. 
“What is it? Who has hurt you?” In the 
thunder of the storm she had not heard the 
shot. 

Allan, looking down upon her, tried to com- 
mand himself, but all thought was confused. 


152 


The Mystery Deepens. 


He lifted his hand to his head, and the pain that 
struck along his nerves as he laid his hand upon 
the wound brought him to his senses. It was 
clear enough then. He had been shot, whether 
intentionally or not, he must wait to know ; but 
the girl beside him must be gotten out of the 
way ot possible harm from other than the terrors 
of the storm. 

“ I am all right, Edith,” he said ; but there 
was a strange sound to his voice, and the smile 
he forced upon his lips was worse to the girl 
than the deepest gravity would have been. He 
could not choose his words ; his tongue would 
not obey his will ; but his mind was so filled 
with the desire to lighten her fear that he spoke 
whatever came to his mind. “ You need not 
fear for me, dearest,” he said, and the pale face 
flushed in the gloom like the heart of a rose at 
the gentle word. “ I shall be myself presently. 
It is nothing. A scratch, you see, and bleeds 
worse than the hurt. Some hunter, I suppose, 
shooting at random — ” 

“You are shot, Allan!” Even the crash of 
thunder following upon the deadly flash of light- 
ning at that moment could not make her flinch 


The Mystery Deepe7is, ^53 

with this fear upon her. She was drenched, but 
scarcely knew it. With a woman’s unselfish- 
ness, she was not thinking of herself. Her 
thought for him was swift. Drawing her hand- 
kerchief from her pocket, she quickly folded it 
into a bandage. 

“ It is wet — everything is wet now, Allan,’' 
she said ; and although she was forced to speak 
loud on account of the tumult around them, yet 
her voice was heavenly sweet to him. ‘‘ Let me 
bind this on the wound. It must be bound, you 
know.” 

Her authority was most delightful. He 
stooped, that she could reach him, for he was a 
good head and shoulders above her, and steadied 
her with his arms as she reached up, laying the 
soft morsel of linen over the wound, and tied it 
carefully, but with nervous fingers, around his 
head. His eyes were upon her face, but she 
would not meet them, a sudden sense of shyness 
making her afraid to look into his eyes. She 
would not have been a woman not to know that 
the man loved her; but now that he would tell 
her, she woulc avoid it if she could. 

What did they care for the rain or the thun- 


154 


The Mystery Deepens, 


der or fire of the heavens ? It was sweet to 
have her thought only for him; and to know that 
such a woman loved him but he, too, hesitated 
in telling her what was so near his lips. She had 
been a warm friend to him for over a year, 
though there were times when she tested his 
friendship to the utmost; but he had never 
asked of her the return of love for love, and as 
the words would rise to his lips some unaccount- 
able sense of unworthiness kept them back. 

She asked for his handkerchief, and he gave 
it to her. Softly and tenderly she wiped the 
blood from his cheek where it was flowing 
slowly down, her face quivering and her eyes 
dilating with fear for his comfort. 

'‘It is dreadful to see you — like — like this,” 
she ventured, faintly, and now the old pallor 
returned to her cheeks and lips. For it was 
a rather ghastly sight — that blood upon his face 
in the glare of the lightning. She tried to draw 
herself gently away, but he held her firmly. 
That sense of bewilderment had gone; he was 
himself again. He smiled into the uplifted face 
with the touch of storm upon it. He even for- 


The Mystery Deepens. 


155 


got Montgomery’s disappearance for the 
moment. 

“ Then you do care ?” he asked. It was a 
most useless question, and he knew it, but it was 
sweet to have her sympathy. 

“ Qf course I care,” she said, quietly. 
^‘Wouldn’t you care if a friend were hurt, Mr. 
Mansfield ?” 

“ And only a friend ?” he asked, wickedly. 
“ And only Mr. Mansfield?” 

The storm was dying in the distance. Long 
rolls of thunder reverberated over the hills. 
The lightning flashed, but fainter and farther 
away. The storm could not frighten her now. 
Now that it was passing, they could find their 
way back to the hotel, and all would be well, if 
only this hurt of his did not amount to anything 
serious. The thought of harm brought the swift 
tenderness to her face again ; and his eyes, 
searching that same face, knew of her thought. 

There was a loud crashing of boughs and 
the trampling of feet through the softened rain. 
Miss Hallston and Mr. Mansfield were, of course, 
still searching for the homeward path as soon as 
that sound fell upon their ears. It would not 


156 The Mystery Deepens. 

do to let the world know how happy they were, 
and how much they were to each other, under 
those ridiculous circumstances. The world 
would laugh at them. Neither of them cared to 
be teased and laughed at, when they should only 
be happy. 

“ It is Montgomery !” said Allan, ere he caught 
sight of the scrambling person through the 
wet boughs. “ He got behind, you know, and, 
for a moment I thought he was lost. Eh ! hello ! 
is that you, Montgomery ?’' His voice was as 
steady and strong as though nothing had hap- 
pened to so startle him such a few moments 
before, and he turned in the direction of the 
sound, hoping and believing that it was the man 
he wished to see. 

But it was not Montgomery. The tall, big, 
broad-shouldered fellow, with his trousers 
tucked into his boots, and the short jacket and 
soft hat, was not Montgomery. He was torn by 
the underbrush, and somewhat the worse for the 
rain, as were the two he came upon ; but he 
looked capable of surviving many worse things 
than that. 

“ Oh I” There was great disappointment in 


The Mystery Deepens, 


157 


Allan’s voice. “You’re not the man I thought. 
We’re lost, somehow. Can you tell me how to 
get to the carry just below the hotel across the 
lake ? Why, I’ll be blest if it isn’t Daily ! You 
couldn’t have been any one we would rather see 
had you tried ! How did you come here ? 
Mrs. Castlemon sent you, eh ? I forget she went 
for a guide, though I knew it at the time. Well, 
the lost young lady is found, but the joke of it is 
that those who found her are as lost as she could 
possibly be! This storm, you see, knocked all 
reckoning out of my brain. Get us out of this 
at once, will you ?” 

“There was another chap with you ?’’ began 
the guide. “ Mrs. Castlemon said there were two 
of you gone to look for her,” nodding his head 
in Edith’s direction. 

There was a warning in Allan’s eyes which 
the quick-witted fellow understood. He nod- 
ded without waiting for a reply, and started 
ahead of the others, straight out of the path they 
had been following, and turned to the right 
where the underbrush was thinner. 

“ You was goin’ exactly in the contrairy 
direction to what you should have gone,” he 


158 


The Mystery Deepens. 


said, grimly. It is powerful easy to get lost 
on this ’ere mountain, and I don’t wonder at 
your doing so. Most folks does that try going 
off without a guide. ’Tain’t safe. Them as has 
once tried it never do it again. You’re hurt, 
though,” said Daily, catching sight of the blood 
under the bandage on the young man’s head. 
He had noticed the handkerchief, but thought 
little of it in the rain and the general confusion 
of nature. “ How did it happen, and how bad 
is it ? Ran against a sharp twig, eh ?” 

No !” Edith’s voice was sharp and abrupt. 
The man turned to her in astonishment. “ He 
did not hurt himself at all, Mr. Daily. Some- 
body else gave him that wound. We don’t 
know who it was. He was helping me down a 
bank, and the next I knew there was this cut 
across his forehead, and blood on his hand, when 
he went to touch the wound. Do you think it 
could have been some stray shot, as he says, that 
could have done it, or was there any one — ” 
She could not finish that sentence, and stopped 
with a slowly whitening face. She had not 
before thought of the possibility of intentional 
harm to her friend. 


The Mystery Deepens. 


159 


The guide looked at her sharply and then at 
Allan. This was an original way of getting 
wounded. Still it was possible — yes, even prob- 
able, in this case, that this was the cause of the 
wound. Only — and here he shrugged his 
shoulders with an air of exasperating doubt — if 
it were from the chance shot of some hunter 
among the woods, it did certainly seem strange 
that there was no sign of such a person after- 
ward. It was nothing to him, though, of course. 
If these people wanted to think so, it was 
all right for them to think so, but for his 
part — 

“ I didn't notice the shot,” said Edith, pres- 
ently, made somehow uncomfortable by the 
guide's manner. The storm was so dreadful, I 
never knew a thing about it till Mr. Mansfield 
put his hand to his head and there was blood 
upon it! He looked so awful, too, that I was 
dreadfully frightened, but I didn’t know what to 
do except to bind it up. Did I do it right, 
Mr. Daily?” 

It’ll do well enough for now,” he said, still 
with that exasperating shrug of his shoulders, 
and the side glance at Edith that made her feel 


i6o The Mystery Deepens. 

uncomfortable. As though he suspected her, 
she told herself. “ When you get up to the 
house, though, I’d advise him to get it fixed 
right off. “ ’Tain’t in a special nice place for a 
bullet wound. Maybe you don’t know much 
about bullet wounds, though, miss ?” he added, 
and Edith shrank from the evil look of his 
eyes. “ They’re kinder bad things to have, 
let me tell you, and some times lead to 
worse.” 

“ What does he mean?” cried the girl, turning 
to Allan, in unaccountable terror. Are you 
hurt badly, Mr. Mansfield? Do you feel worse 
again ? Lean on me, if you are faint. I am 
very strong and can help you, you don’t know 
how much! Just try me — please do — and see ! 
This has been so hard for you, and if I had not 
been so headstrong, it would never have hap- 
pened — ” 

Allan stopped further self-reproach. He 
could not bear to see the sweet face so grieved 
over what may have been the one chance he 
needed to be sure of her thought for him. 
He laughed gayly at thought of leaning upon 


The Mystery Deepens. 


i6i 


her, as though instead she ought to lean upon 
him. 

“ My foolish child,” he said, in an undertone, 
smiling upon her, “ you need have no fear for 
me indeed ! This is but a scratch, and we will 
have it put to rights as soon as we get back to 
the hotel. It looks far worse, let me tell you, 
than it feels. There, are you satisfied about it, 
or will you wait till some one else tells you the 
same?” 

It was good to have him talking so lightly 
about it, but it did not change her fear. He 
was saying that for her as she would have said 
it for him in his place, and he could not blind 
her eyes. She would not let the guide hinder 
her gentle offices of nurse when he needed help. 
So she went to him and drew his arm across her 
shoulder and steadied it with her two hands ; 
and, although the beautiful color flushed into 
her cheeks, she did not falter nor look ashamed. 
Why should she? Would she not help any one 
in need of her assistance ? 

The guide looked most unbelievingly upon all 
this show of solicitude, but he kept his lips shut 
over any word he might have uttered, and 


i 62 


The Mystery Deepens. 


strode on down the dripping mountain as 
though there were no spirit of love in the wide 
world. 

“ He’s a fool to believe her !” he said to him- 
self ; but, as he fashioned the thought in his 
mind, the girl’s face was turned to him, alight 
with its sweetness and mobility, and the words 
died ere they passed his lips. He could not 
bring himself to utter such a thought with her 
eyes upon him. 

The path seemed very simple, following the 
guide ; and although the storm was broken, and 
the clouds in the west were drifting before the 
breeze that was born in the storm- wind’s train, 
yet the sun had not struggled through when 
they once more stood by the bower beside the 
lake. Here Allan looked at his watch, and 
found it was half after five. It must have been 
nearly an hour since Montgomery left them. 
Where might he not have gone, or what might 
not have befallen him in that time ? 

With this in his mind Allan turned to the 
guide. 

“We know where we are now, Daily,” he said, 
quietly. “ We will have no difficulty in getting 


7 ^ he Mystery Deepens. 163 

back to the hotel. Will you go back for Mr. 
Montgomery, or shall I send some one from 
over there?” 

He motioned with his head toward the house, 
and kept his eyes upon the man’s face. He was 
a good-looking fellow, but there was something 
in his face that did not altogether suit Allan. 

“ Do you think he lost track of us?” asked 
Edith, earnestly, searching his face. “ How self- 
ish I have been ! I never really thought he was 
gone astray, and yet there is every reason to 
think so. Poor, kind Mr. Montgomery ! Sup- 
pose anything has happened to him during that 
terrible lightning ?” 

“ Daily will find him, if he goes,” said Allan, 
reassuringly, but in his heart he began to doubt 
whether or no Daily would find him. So much 
of mystery was around him that he began to fear 
it would not end with his friend so well as he 
would hope. Had not harm befallen him upon 
the high road, only the night before? And was 
it not likely some part of that band of robbers 
and murderers would be anywhere where there 
was likelihood of gaining anything ? Might 
they not even have known of their lunching 


164 


The My s levy Deepe^U. 


there that day, and, still no friend to him in spite 
of being forced to let him go from their hold, 
might it not be that some “ stray bullet ” from 
them might be the wound upon his forehead? 

Those choLights made his eyes very grave, 
more grave than he knew, and the guide’s eyes 
were sharp. They were too sharp and too black 
Edith thought, turning from him with a sense of 
dislike she could not have explained. 

“ He hasn’t said that he will go,” she said, 
quite as calmly as Allan had spoken. “ He may 
not care for another climb in the rough weather, 
. Mr. Mansfield !” 

Was it scorn in her voice? The man looked 
at her intently. Then he lifted his head 
proudly. 

“ I did not know that I was ever asked to find 
any one who was lost on this mountain that I 
refused to do it, Miss Hallston !” he said, with 
an air that would have been impertinent from 
any other. “ I will leave you here, if you know 
the way to the house, and if Mr. Montgomery 
can be found, he will be found.” 

All right. Daily,” said Allan, cheerily. I 
wish you luck, man. We missed him just a few 


TJie Mystery Deepens. 165 

minutes before you came up with us. He should 
be traced from there, as you traced us.” 

“ I saw no other trace,” said the man, dog- 
gedly, as he turned away. “ I followed the only 
one I saw. That was yours. But if he is to be 
found, he will be found.” 

“ Do you think anything really serious could 
have happened to him, Mr. Mansfield ?” queried 
Edith, anxiously, as they went on together beside 
the lake, now in sight of the hotel. “ I am so 
very, very sorry for what I have done ! I could 
not know what would come of it, of course; 
but it would have been wiser to have taken the 
advice of those who knew more about what I 
was talking than I did.” 

“ Of course, you could not know,” said Allan, 
decisively, without a moment's hesitation. He 
had removed his hand from her shoulder, and 
was walking quite steadily beside her, but she 
could not know the pain he was suffering. It 
was so strange why such a slight wound should 
affect him as that did. That was not the first 
time he had had a bullet wound. “ Besides,” 
and now he smiled upon her, if you had not 
run away from us and led us a pretty chase, it 


1 66 TJie Mystery Deepe^is, 

might be that you would not have been so kind 
to me as you have been, Edith. I shall tell you 
more fully what I have to say, if you will let me, 
by and by. There is no need to tell you that I 
love you, for you already know that ; but I have 
a question to ask you, the reply to which will 
change the world for me.’' 

She laughed softly, to mislead him as .to how 
much this was to her, and said, with a bewitch- 
ing gravity : 

“ I will do my best for you, Mr. Mansfield. 
Did you not save my life?” 

An excited group were upon the piazza as 
Edith and Allan approached the hotel. Mrs. 
Castlemon was among them, and ran down the 
steps, regardless of her pretty, thin slippers and 
the wet grass, in her excitement. 

“Edith ! You poor, dear, lost child ! You can 
have no idea what I have endured since noon ! 
But to have you safe — But in what a condition ! 
Soaked through, of course ! Then you did not 
find shelter, as we hoped against hope. Of 
course some of our friends know of it, for I could 
not tell lies, you know, and say you were here 
when you had absolutely not come. And when 


Th e Mystery Deepens. 


167 


that dreadful storm came — ” She shuddered, 
and would not speak of it further. She had her 
arm around the girl, and was half carrying her 
up the steps, where their friends were waiting 
for them. 

“ What is the matter with you, Mr. Mans- 
field ?” She caught sight of the tell-tale blood 
upon the bandage on his head, and the color fled 
from her cheeks. “ You are hurt. I am so 
sorry. How did it happen? And where is Mr. 
Montgomery, Edith?” She asked this more as 
though it were because she was never thought- 
less of any one, than as though she cared to hear, 
and a restlessness came into the soft black eyes 
that turned from Mr. Mansfield to Edith. “ It is 
so sad that our pretty luncheon party ended as 
it has. I hope you are not seriously hurt, Mr. 
Mansfield.” 

“ Oh, no !” He was in haste to deny this, and 
as much in haste to get to his room, for he was 
growing strangely faint and sick. “ It is really 
nothing, Mrs. Castlemon. You will pardon me 
if I suggest that Miss Hallston be attended to at 
once ? She has been exposed to the worst of the 
storm, and 1 fear a heavy cold, unless she has 


i68 


The Mystery Deepens. 


dry clothing at once and something hot to 
drink—” 

He was growing rather incoherent, and 
Deland, who was among the group, catching 
sight of him, and comprehending his state of 
mind, caught him by the arm and hurried him 
off out of sight of the rest. 

“ Come up to your room, old fellow !” he 
said. “ Got a deuced ducking, didn’t you ? 
Ha! ha! But I say, that was a mighty queer 
-freak of Miss Hallston’s tramping off up the 
mountain by herself! She should have known 
she could not do it, nor find her way back ! 
Women are such queer creatures! Eh, Mans- 
field ?” 

He did not wait for replies, as he hurried his 
friend through the office and up the staircase. 
He was too well aware of the need of haste, as 
though Mansfield had told him in a million 
words. He was something of a surgeon, was 
Deland. 

“ We went over to Saranac all right, and 
returned your horse ; but whatever possessed 
you to hire the nag and never get here till this 
morning beats me ! It’s 3'our own business 


The Mystery Deepens. 169 

though, of course. I’m not finding fault with 
you. You’re at liberty to do as you like, I’m 
sure, only it won’t be well for you to get many 
such blows as this, 1 can tell you, old fellow! 
Where’d you get it, and what had you done to 
deserve it?” 

He had Allan in his room, and was assisting 
him with all speed to change his wet clothing. 
He did not attempt to touch the wound until 
this was done. 

“ Oh, yes, you’d like to get into your evening 
dress and go down to dinner, but you’re going 
to do nothing of the sort, my dear chap! You 
are to get into your downy bed as fast as you 
can get there, and do exactly as I tell you. You 
needn’t open your mouth to expostulate, for 
when the decree has gone forth there is no 
changing it. I tell you, unless you do as I tell 
you we will have a grand case of brain-fever on 
our hands. Maybe you don’t believe it. I tell 
3^011 it is true. Come now, do as 1 tell you, 
Mansfield ! Don’t give us any more trouble 
than is necessary.” 

Don’t alarm yourself,” said Allan, laughing, 
as he obe3^ed, nevertheless, for Deland was too 


1 /O The Mystery Deepens. 

much for him. “ One would think me a baby 
the way you coddle me. Deland !” 

“ Oh, well, so you are,” was the cool retort. 

“ Now then, Mansfield, if you’re ready, 
I should like to see this noble wound of 
battle !” 

He untied tenderly the soft shred of handker- 
chief which Edith had tied with such careful 
fingers. The wound had bled considerably, and 
adhered to the cloth as he endeavored to 
remove it. A frown came upon Deland’s 
brow. 

“’Twouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said, calmly, 
“ to have some hot water here, Mansfield, and 
bathe this thing till the cloth comes off. I can 
get it off as it is, but that would only need- 
lessly irritate the wound. It’s quite an ugly 
cut, isn’t it ? What were you doing with fire- 
arms out there, if you please ?” 

“ Nothing.” Allan did not particularly care 
whether he had warm water applied to his head 
or a knife. In its present state it seemed to him 
it could not by any possibility be more painful 
than it was. Besides, he was too drowsy to 
half understand what his friend was saying. 


The Mystery Deepens. i 7 1 

Deland comprehended this, and went on doing 
as he proposed, without further argument, 
although he kept up 'the one-sided conversation. 
Some of Deland’s friends had the ill-nature to 
say that he would keep up a running conversa- 
tion on his death-bed. 

“There !” Deland had the basin of hot water 
at hand and was bathing Allan’s head as softly 
as a woman could. “ That is better, I know, old 
boy. Its mother shall put it to sleep presently, 
if it’s a good child. And so you had no other 
amusement but trying to blow your brains out 
over there, eh? That isn’t a half good idea, 
Mansfield. Do you know there are other modes 
of blessing humanity without such bloody deeds 
as this ! A thirty-two caliber, too, I should say. 
And an ugly wound,” he added to himself, as he 
softly bathed the other’s head. 

Allan’s eyes were closing, and Deland, who 
had the gaze of a hawk, went on calmly doing 
his work and conversing with himself, as though 
Allan were as wide awake as he. 

“ I should think it anything but gay to start 
on a picnic and return with a blood-and-thunder 
air such as this,” he said, his fingers as light as 


172 The Mystery Deepens. 

the tenderest nurse. “ Now that’s off as well as 
we can get it, and we are to fix up this cut. It 
won’t do any good to probe for a ball, for 
there’s no ball. It cut clean across, and just 
deep enough to be interesting. I wonder if 
you guessed, my dear old chum, that your life 
was in a mighty ticklish balance for a second 
there !” 

He stooped over the young man as earnestly 
as though indeed life and death hung in the bal- 
ance. Allan’s eyes were closing fast, though he 
made a pretense of listening to what his friend 
was saying. Then Deland straightened up, and 
turned away to the bell-cord at the other side of 
the room. 

“ It’s as well to get some whiskey down your 
throat, my child, as soon as it is possible,” he 
said to himself, giving the rope a good, energetic 
pull. And when the boy came to the door at 
his call, he ordered a bottle of that liquor at 
once, and to send Dr. Mainton up to him as soon 
as possible. Then he returned to his patient and 
waited, doing what he could. 

“ It’s a deuced bad business, anyhow,” he said, 
as he bent over the bed. “ I wish he were able to 


The Mystery Deepens. i 73 

tell me just how it happened, but I can get that 
from Miss Hallston by and by, perhaps. And 
it’s rather queer, it seems to me, that Montgom- 
ery doesn’t show up. The two coming together 
after this fashion makes a coincidence that 
doesn’t at all please me.” 

The boy was back with the whiskey and the 
message that the doctor would come up in ten 
minutes. 

“But that won’t do,” said Deland, quietly, but 
with an authority the other did not dare dis- 
obey. “ Go down, Jim, and tell Dr. Mainton that 
if it were not of the most importance 1 would 
wait his time ; but if he can — no matter how 
much it may inconvenience him — to come up 
directly. I must have him, Jim! D’ye hear? 
Well, see that you bring him I” 

“ Ten minutes, indeed I” he muttered, as he 
took a glass he found on Allan’s table, and 
poured info it a good strong dose of the whis- 
key. “Ten minutes too late, it is as likely to be 
as anything. Dr. Mainton ! When you come, 
you’ll understand why I was so mighty anxious, 
maybe. I may not be as full-fledged a physician 
as you, but I know a hard case when I see it.” 


174 


The Mystery Deepens, 


He went over to the bed, and lifted Allan’s 
head softly on his arm. Mansfield opened his 
eyes slowly, scarcely recognizing the hand that 
was so tender in its touch. 

“ All right, Mansfield, old boy,” said Deland, 
cheerfully. “You’ll feel better directly you get 
this down your throat ! Heigho ! here it goes ! 
You won’t? But you simply must, yon know! 
That’s it I I always said you’d make a good sub- 
ject for a hospital I” 

As though he were sorry for having given 
utterance to this sentiment. Deland laid Allan’s 
head gently back upon the pillow, and went 
across to the door, which he opened, and looked 
out along the hall in vSearch of the doctor. He 
was coming, as he was pretty certain he would, 
and Deland drew him hurriedly in, closing the 
door after him. 

“You’re in a big hurry. Deland !” the new- 
comer said. “ What’s the matter in here that 
3^ou’d not even let me finish my dinner ?” 

But he knew before he finished speaking that 
there was good need of his services and loss of 
dinner. 

“ By George !” he said, by and by, in a low 


Two Women. 


175 


tone to his companion, as they turned from the 
• bedside. “ But that Avas a narrow escape, 
Deland ! Just the space of a hair’s difference, 
and that would have been the end of Allan 
Mansfield.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

TWO WOMEN. 

“ Then you think it is a dangerous case?” 
asked Deland, with a grave face. He was fond 
of Mansfield, and would be deeply grieved at 
any harm falling upon him. 

The eyes of the two men met. Both Avere 
physicians, and neither could blind the other to 
the truth. Then Dr. Mainton shrugged his 
shoulders lightly, as he ansAvered : 

“ He has a constitution like a gladiator. 
Deland, but it Avill take some time to prove 
whether or not he can come through this. It’s 
a pretty bad case. If I Avere you — of course, I 
would not be Avilling to take the liberty, knoAA^- 


Two Women. 


1 76 

ing him so slightly as 1 do — but if I were you, 
Deland, I would let his people know. It will be 
as well. He needs careful nursing, and maybe 
the presence of his own people would help him 
along. A fellow has such repugnance to letting 
his mother or sisters know how weak he is !” and 
the doctor laughed softly as he turned away 
from the door where Deland stood, his face con- 
siderably troubled by this certainty from such 
authority as the physician before him. For Dr. 
Mainton knew what he was talking about when 
he gave such an opinion as that. 

“ There is only his mother to tell,” said Deland, 
slowly. “ I don’t like the business at all. Main- 
ton ! Where’s Montgomery, and how did Mans- 
field receive such a wound ? He needn’t tell me 
it was accidental ! That’s all bosh ! Whoever 
sent that bullet, did it with the express purpose 
of ending his career, so far as a bullet could end 
it! It’s an ugly thing, anyhow !” 

“ So it is,” the doctor admitted, gravely. “ So 
it is. If I were his brother or near friend, I 
would look into it as far as possible. But you 
don’t think” — a new light in his eyes, a hard 
expression coming around his mouth — “ you 


EDITH! YOU POOR, DEAR, LOST CHILD ParfC 1G() 


€ r 






Two ]]^omen. 


177 


don’t think that Montgomery’s not turning up 
and this have anjdhing to do with each other ?” 

His voice was low, as though the thought was 
too harsh to speak of above a whisper. 

“ I hardly know what I think,” Deland said, in 
a troubled voice. “ Montgomery’s a nice fellow, 
so far as I know, but I really know very little 
about him. He’s a sort of coward, though, that 
I am sure of. Had all the evidence I want for 
that, in spite of his saving Miss Hallston that 
time. I haven’t forgotten the day he let those 
horses run by him without so much as an attempt 
to stop them !” 

“ What horses ?” 

Dr. Mainton came nearer the door and leaned 
against it, looking with interest upon the 
speaker. Dr. Mainton did not particularly like 
Mr. Montgomery. He had his own reason for 
the feeling, and had nev^er taken any one into 
his confidence. But Dr. Mainton was shrewd in 
more ways than in ordering for a patient’s dis- 
ease. 

“Haven’t you heard the story?” Deland 
looked in utter surprise from the questioner to 
the bed in the room where the new patient lay 


178 


Two Women, 


in a stupor that was not sleep nor insensibility. 

I thought every one knew the story, Mainton. 
It was the beginning of iny acquaintance with 
him. Not a particularly good recommendation, 
but there was something queer about the fellow 
that attracted me toward him. Couldn’t help it, 
you know. Fascination, we’d maybe have called 
it in a woman. It was this way. I was out in a 
cutter with Miss Camden — you know Miss 
Camden ? — just out of Montreal. It was only 
last winter, and made a stir among our set 
because the ladies were favorites with us. Mrs. 
Castlemon and Miss Hallston were the ladies. 
They were driving in a cutter. Miss Hallston 
had the lines, and in some way their horses got 
unmanageable and were running like mad, 
threatening every minute to upset the cutter. 

“ Miss Camden and I were considerably behind 
them when the run began, and I hurried our 
horse up to his biggest speed to overtake them, 
so that I would maybe get a chance to offer some 
assistance. It was hard to tell just what that 
assistance would or could be with the horses 
going like mad, and we behind them ; but one 
would be willing to run pretty hard risks to save 


Two Women. 


179 


those women. Of course, a brave fellow 
wouldn’t stop to think or care who the women 
in danger were, but with two such beautiful 
women as they — You know how it is, Mainton !” 
and Deland broke off, laughing softly. 

“ It was only the space of a breath, it seemed 
to me afterward, when the big scene came on ! 
There were the horses whirling down that road 
like the devil himself, and those women never 
uttering so much as a ghost of a scream. Miss 
Hallston holding to the reins like death — as 
though those pretty hands of hers could stop 
such a race ! — when there came along ahead of 
them, from a cross-road, a man mounted on a 
magnificent horse. He saw the runaway, pulled 
in his animal, made as though he would cross the 
road and so cut off the runaways — he could have 
done it, at a little risk — but half a man would 
have done it — when he looked all at once as 
though he had turned into stone ! Don’t ask me 
what was the matter ! Can’t tell you if life 
depended upon it ; but there he sat on his horse 
with a face as hard and as white as the grim- 
mest stone ever quarried ! 1 could have killed 

him for it ! I remember I wasn’t quite account- 


i8o 


Two Woinen. 


able for what I did say, but Miss Camden gave 
me a round hauling over afterward because she 
said I swore like a trooper! He could have 
saved them without a scratch, and, instead of 
doing it, he held down his horse and never took 
his eyes from Mrs. Castlemon’s face while they 
were dashing toward him I Of course, they 
went by him, and just as they passed him, those 
horses wheeled aside, rushed off the track, and 
away went the cutter into flinders! Were they 
hurt ? Being a doctor there is no need of your 
asking such a question, Mainton ! Hurt ? There 
was pretty Miss Hallston lying as white as the 
snow itself, all of a heap under the rails of the 
fence, and Mrs. Castlemon with almost as bad a 
gash on her forehead as Mansfield has at this 
minute. She went into brain-fever, too, and it 
was pretty ticklish pulling to get her out. Some- 
body hinted — though no one ever corroborated 
it — that she raved a good deal about Montgom- 
ery while she was out of her head as though she 
had known him. But as to that, I can’t swear. 
I do know, though, that when they came here 
this season and knew he was one of the guests. 


Two Women. 


i8i 

there wasn’t so much as the movement of an 
eyelid to show that she cared. 

“As to Miss Hallston, she broke her arm, and 
was generally bruised, but she recovered with 
remarkable quickness, and was back in New York 
before her friends knew of her intention. She 
never gave any excuse for their sudden leave, and 
no one among her friends dared ask her. They’re 
both delightful women, but if they don’t choose 
to open their pretty lips about a subject, you 
wouldn’t have the face to go poking about trying 
to find out about it. When Miss Hallston saw 
Montgomery here, she merely laughed and 
shrugged her shoulders, as though it were a 
question with her whether she liked it or not. 
You wouldn’t do well to ask her, though. And 
I don’t believe any one was more surprised than 
she, when he jumped after her in the lake that 
day when she tipped the boat and went under. 
Mrs. Castlemon was with her, of course. They 
are inseparable. She didn’t say a word. Only 
when Miss Hallston was safe, she offered Mont- 
gomery he^ hand, and said, as calmly as a sphinx, 
that he was very brave. They looked at each 
other, too. Phew ! I was looking at ’em — I had 


i 82 


Two Women, 


a sort of insane desire to know what was the rub 
between them — and I saw the look.” 

Doctor Mainton shrugged his shoulders with 
as much expression in the action as a Frenchman 
would give. He and Deland were looking into 
each other’s eyes intently. 

“ I know nothing of the man,” he said, calmly, 
“excepting what I have seen here. He’s good- 
looking enough, but not such a man as would 
take a woman’s fancy, I should think. But you 
hint that his disappearance and this accident — ” 

“ I tell you there’s no accident about it !” 
interrupted Deland, rather savagely. “ I know 
pretty much about rifles and revolvers, and all 
that, and you needn’t tell me that any one would 
be hunting during such a storm as that. Besides, 
this cut, as you very well know, if you know 
anything about such matters, is not made by a 
rifle ball, but a bullet from a revolver. It is a 
clean cut across his head, and burned as it went ! 
Whoever fired the bullet was not far from him at 
the time. I can put things together that are as 
plain as daylight, I tell you, Mainton ! Can’t 
you see for yourself how clear it is ?” 

Dr. Mainton laughed, shortl3^ 


Two Women. 


183 

“ What have you against Montgomery,” he 
asked, lightly, “ that you should insinuate that 
because he does not show up it is pretty certain 
that he is the cause of Mansfield's wound? 
That is a s^ious charge, you know. You should 
be certain before you assert such a thing.” 

“ I am not fool enough to tell any one but 
you, Mainton,” Deland said, impatiently. “1 
have some common sense left. But I hope 
Montgomery will turn up pretty soon, that is 
all ; and that Mansfield will get over this as well 
as Mrs. Castlemon recovered from her adventure 
with that coward !” 

“ But, are you certain it was cowardice. 
Deland?” There was an expression in the doc- 
tor’s eyes that the other did not comprehend. 
“ Mayn’t there have been some other reason why 
he did not wish to save Mrs. Castlemon ?” 

Deland gasped, and eyed him in wonder. 
Then he reached out and grasped Dr. Mainton 
by the shoulders in a grip like death. 

“Mainton!” he exclaimed, “you’re a keen 
one ! Why the deuce didn’t I think of such a 
possibility ? It’s sure and certain there was no 
cowardice about him when he went over after 


184 


Two Women. 


Miss Hallston, and he must have gone with 
Mansfield to-day without any fear, though he 
knew as well as we that it wasn’t a specially safe 
thing to do. I believe you’ve hit the nail on the 
head, and may help get some solution of this 
mystery. When I go into the private detective 
business. I’ll take you along as partner!” 

“And in the meantime,” said Dr. Mainton, 
quietly, “ you want to keep an eye upon Mans- 
field. Let his friends know, if you think it 
best.” 

“Yes, poor fellow !” said Deland, returning to 
the present with a swift change of manner and 
voice. “ There’s one thing I am willing to 
swear to, and that is that there isn’t so much as 
one cowardly hair in his head, Mainton !” 

“ Not one 1” affirmed the doctor, as he bade 
the other good-night, and went away down the 
hall. Deland’s story filling his mind to the exclu- 
sion of other thoughts. 

In the meanwhile, Mrs. Castlemon, in Miss 
Hallston’s room at the other end of the hall, was 
giving that young lady her undivided attention. 
There was need of her care, for Edith was in a 


Tzuo Women. 


185 


deplorably hysterical condition after the excite- 
ment and shock of the storm. 

“ It was dreadful, Marie !” she cried, shiver- 
ing with the chill and nervousness. “ You don’t 
know how dreadful it was! I never thought I 
was lost until Mr. Montgomery told me. He 
was with Allan, of course. It seems to me he is 
always where one would least expect him to be. 
And now he is lost, and maybe something dread- 
ful has happened to him !” 

Mrs. Castlemon laughed easily and rather 
coldly, but the hand that was smoothing the 
girl’s beautiful soft hair was full of tenderness 
and sympathy. 

“You need not fear for him, Edith,” she said, 
calmly. “ He is in no danger, believe me. You 
should think of yourself and your friend rather 
than ot him. He is not worth your sorrow. 
He will take good care of himself. And you 
were out in that terrible shower with the light- 
ning flashing around you, and you, poor, pretty 
child, so fearful of the lightning !” 

“ But I wasn’t so afraid with Mr. Mansfield,” 
whispered this poor, pretty child, hiding her 
head in the cushions of the couch where she was 


86 


Two Women. 


lying. “I wasn’t half afraid, Marie, dearest! 
He is so big and so brave and so careful of 
one — ” 

“ Yes,” said Marie, laughing, with a most pro 
Yoking nod of her head and a merry flash of her 
beautiful eyes. “ Oh, yes, Edith, dearest, I 
know how big and brave and careful he is! 
And what else, my dearest? That was not 
all, surely! That would not bring my girl 
home with such a light in her eyes, and 
such — ” 

“Oh, don’t!” whispered Edith, in confusion. 
“You are unkind, Marie! You are more than 
cruel ! I shall tell you what I will, and you 
shall know no more ! You do not tell me all 
your life and your heart and hopes ! Why 
should I — ” 

Mrs. Castlemon’s face was hidden from Edith. 
The girl’s voice was still alarmingly smothered 
by the cushions of the couch. Had she seen the 
deathly pallor that struck the beautiful face 
above her, she might have guessed that there 
was more of sadness and pain than pleasure in 
the hidden part of her life. But she did not see, 
and Mrs. Castlemon was not one to speak where 


Tiiw Women. 


187 


words might only bring pain to another. So 
she smoothed very softly and tenderly the 
bowed, beautiful head, and laughed with appar- 
ent ease at the words. 

“ There are few women, Edith, dearest,” she 
said, lightly, “ who are more true friends than 
we — you and 1. But why should I tell you 
there is no Lethe can drown my memory.” 

“You poor dear!” Edith dropped the smoth- 
ering cushions and lifted to the light her 
flushed face and happy eyes, that were darken- 
ing with sympathy. She caught Mrs. Castle- 
mon’s hands from her hair and held them down 
against her face with grace and sweetness. She 
leaned her cheek against them as a child might 
do, and the tenderness of her eyes brought a 
mist of tears to the black eyes. “ I am so 
selfish and thoughtless, Marie! You are an 
angel and my truest friend, and I can say 
such mean things to you ! 1 ought to know 

what you are without your telling me, you 
darling !” 

Mrs. Castlemoii leaned over and kissed the 
soft cheek nearest her, an inscrutable expression 
in her eyes. She pressed the girl gently down 


i88 


Two Women. 


among the cushions once more, although she 
did not for the moment touch the tumbled hair 
that fell over the cushions to the floor in heavy 
masses of glossy brown. 

“ You are always generous to me, Edith,” she 
said, earnestly. “Were you as generous and 
kind to Mr. Mansfield as you are to me? You 
were not kind to him this morning, and I could 
have found it in my heart to scold you thor- 
oughly for your naughty snubbing? He isn’t 
a man to be fooled with, -Edith. He is too 
true and frank himself to bear falsehood and 
deceit — ” 

“ But /never told him a falsehood or deceived 
him !” cried Edith, again starting up in astonish- 
ment. “ What possible reason have I for doing 
such a thing, and why should I, and how could I 
if there were any reason? You talk in riddles, 
Marie Castlemon ! If you do not already know 
me well enough to be sure that I would be false 
and deceitful to no one, you can know but little 
of me, indeed, in spite of your professed friend- 
ship !” She was greatly excited, and the color 
flamed across her cheeks in waves of rose. Her 


Two Women. 189 

eyes were shining like stars through the gather- 
ing twilight of the room. 

“ Edith, dearest, have I ever given you cause 
to say that hard thing of me ? Have I ever said 
other than that you are the sweetest of sweet 
women, and as true as the heavens ? Have I ever 
had such a thought in my inmost heart that you 
were one to deceive a man or a woman who 
loves you or whom you love? Have I ever 
even hinted to you that I might, would I follow 
the course of other women who are embittered 
by sorrow, cry aloud that the world is cruel 
and full of lying and deceit and treachery in 
man and woman ? Have I ever said the small- 
est word to lead you to think that I feel ni}^- 
self chosen from others for the hardest smiting 
of fate ? I tell you, Edith Hallston, in spite of 
my calmness, I cover a volcano of passion in 
my heart ! If ever I should lose command of 
my cold pride, or be other than merely gracious 
to those I meet, I would startle you and frighten 
you, and, maybe, drive you from me — you, the 
one being in the world whom I truly love and 
trust! I am sometimes afraid of myself. Is 
there not need of my keeping down that old 


Tivo Women. 


190 

horrible ghost under the waters of Lethe, even 
though it will not drown — even though it rises 
between me and happiness always 

It was marvelous — the command she had. 
Edith could not ask of her what this sorrow was, 
nor from whence it came, but there flashed across 
her mind, too, as clearly and meaningly as the 
same thought and picture flashed across the mind 
of Mr. Deland at, perhaps, the same moment, of 
that mad race through the cold and icy air, with 
the ungovernable horses dashing them to possi- 
ble death, and the immovable rider on the pow- 
erful horse sitting just at one side of the road 
letting them go by unhindered, while the eyes of 
the rider were fixed in a sort of horror upon the 
exquisite face of her companion — letting them 
go to their death because of that beautiful, pallid 
face. Then she reached up, and drew down that 
beautiful woman’s head with its coils of black 
hair like meshes of silk, and held it against her 
breast with her two warm arms clasped around 
her shoulders, as though she could so charm 
away the pain and sorrow that she could not 
know. 

“ My poor, sweet, beautiful Marie,” she mur- 


Two Women, 


191 

mured, her lips against the beautiful hair as she 
held her so. “ My dear, unselfish dearest i . My 
more than friend ! If there is in all the world 
one person who has other than the thought of 
your goodness and truth and best of all womanly 
gifts, may there come to him never one moment 
of peace or rest or gladness till he has owned to 
you his harshness and cruelty. May all good 
women shrink from him as though it were them 
he were unmanly enough to distrust. May he 
come to his senses with as much pain and sadness 
and humiliation, as he has laid upon you — ” 

“ How do you know ?” whispered the low 
voice, and there was a touch of hoarseness in it 
that the girl had never before heard. “ What 
are you saying, Edith ? How can you tell what 
1 have suffered through him — ” 

Then she, too, broke off in her swift utterance, 
and they remained in silence for a moment, she, 
as though to regain her marvelous self-control, 
Edith as though it were a blow, this that she 
had divined upon the opening of her own hap- 
piness. But neither woman could long remain 
in this silence. Mrs. Castlemon slowly and ten- 
derly loosened the clasp of the warm arms from 


192 


Two JVome/i. 


around her, and regained her position in the 
huge arm-chair beside the couch. Edith sank 
back among the cushions, as though there were 
no more light and life and sweetness in the world 
she had thought a pretty good -sort of world 
not long before. It was awkward for both, and 
yet neither would have changed it. 

“ I am rested enough now to dress and go 
down to the parlor,” Edith said, presently. “ I 
was only excited and nervous, Marie. It would 
be foolish to remain here as though I were ill. 
Then, too, I must ask after Mr. Mansfield’s con- 
dition. I am afraid that wound is worse than he 
would tell me. It is a dreadful cut, Marie-^ 
directly across his forehead, above his temple 
but the width of a hair !” 

“ I know you are anxious for your friend, 
Edith,” said the calm, low, musical voice of the 
woman in the shadow where her face could be 
but faintly seen. “ But it will truly be best for 
you to remain quietly here. You have been 
through considerable excitement. I will inquire 
as to Mr. Mansfield’s condition, and whether 
there is any news of Mr. Montgomery.” How 
quietly she uttered the words — as though, Edith 


Two Women, 


193 


said to herself, a sob rising to her throat, as 
though she had not a bit of sorrow in all her 
heart. 

Miss Hallston leaned among her cushions in 
the darkness, picturing all manner of delightful 
and deplorable things, till Mrs. Castlemon 
returned, one of the waitresses with her bearing 
a tray and a dinner upon it that would tempt the 
most averse diner. As Edith was most decidedly 
hungry, although she had forgotten that fact in 
the rush of others facts, she welcomed this 
arrival with dancing eyes. 

“ Aren’t you sweet, you dear Mrs. Castle- 
mon !” she said, gayly, searching the other’s 
eyes for forgiveness of her careless words. 
“ You knew my failing for a good appetite and 
something good to eat. I am simply starved, I 
believe ! And are you not going to dine with me ? 
Oh, yes, you are, or I will not touch one single 
morsel ! There ! Bring another dinner, Estelle, 
that's a good girl. I could not think of eating 
alone when Mrs. Castlemon has had nothing. 
Just a cup of coffee and a small piece of broiled 
chicken, Estelle.” 

'‘And now, my dear,” Mrs. Castlemon added, 


194 


Two Women. 


when they were left alone with the cozy dinner 
between them, “ I saw Mr. Deland on the stairs 
and he told me about Mr. Mansfield. They took 
him to his room, you know, at once, and he is 
asleep now, Mr. Deland said. The wound is 
pretty serious, but with care and quiet he ought 
reasonably to come out all right in a couple of 
weeks or so — ” 

^^Two weeks!” Edith dropped her knife in 
dismay, and looked blankly across to her com- 
panion. “ He is badly hurt, then, Marie 

“Did I not tell you it is a serious wound, 
Edith?” Was she revenging herself upon her 
for the slight, that her voice should be so cold 
and quiet ? “ They have had Dr. Mainton up to 
see him, and he and Mr. Deland have done what 
they can, and he is as comfortable as he can be 
under the circumstances. Mr. Deland is a sort 
of surgeon, you remember. As to Mr. Mont- 
gomery ” — she coolly buttered a thin bit of toast 
upon her plate — “ Mr. Daily has not yet returned, 
so there is no news of him. Still, they think, so 
Mr. Deland said, that there is scarcely need for 
anxiety in regard to him, as he must have lost 
his way and fallen behind you, but that the 


Two Women, 


195 


guide will find him, as he did you, after a little 
search. They are used to such things up here, 
you know, my dear, and think really very 
slightly of them. Will you take some more of 
this chicken, dear? It is remarkably well 
cooked. I ordered it done myself, and saw that 
my order was thoroughly carried out, though 
Estelle is very willing. She is a pretty girl, is 
she not ? And the guide is a handsome fellow !" 

What did Edith care for the waitress, whether 
she were pretty or plain as the plainest of 
women ? Her thoughts were with Allan and 
with Mr. Montgomery lost upon the mountain, 
and with the strange, self-possessed woman oppo- 
site her. She nodded “yes” to her remark 
regarding Estelle, but failed to connect the fol- 
lowing remark as to the looks and physique of 
the guide. She was looking with unconscious 
keenness at the woman across the tray, sitting 
so gracefully and easily, daintily eating her din- 
ner, her face quite as beautiful as ever. 

Could it be possible, she was asking herself, 
still looking at Mrs. Castlemon, that she Avas the 
passionate creature of but a few minutes before, 
with the quiver in her voice and the pain in her 


196 


Two Women. 


eyes and the mad throbbing of her heart against 
her arm as she held her down with her lips 
against her hair. Could she, under such circum- 
stances, keep down her heart and her sorrow as 
this woman was doing? Could she laugh and 
chat and speak unconcernedly of the man who 
had been so strangely affected by the sight oT 
her, and who had undoubtedly left them to be 
dashed to death because of her and something 
affecting their two lives? Edith sighed and 
turned away her gaze. She could not compre- 
hend the wonderful power of this woman, but 
she felt its influence as others felt it. 

There was music in the parlor below, and it 
drifted to them through the stillness of the out- 
side world that had followed the fury of the 
storm. They were sitting very quietly, with 
little or no conversation, each deep in her own 
thoughts, when above the music and the soft 
sound of voices came the startling report of a 
rifle — another and another — from the direction 
of the lake. 

Both women sprang to their feet in undefina- 
ble fear. 

“ Something has happened to Mr. Mont- 


From Lips hi Delirium. 


197 


gomery !” cried Edith, as she crossed to her 
friend, and reached out her hands as though to 
comfort her. 

But Mrs. Castlemon stood cold and motion- 
less, listening for what would follow. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FROM LIPS IN DELIRIUM. 

The music and singing went on down in the 
parlor ; none but those two women apparently 
heard the shots. There were no hurrying foot- 
steps, no exclamations, as they seemed to expect. 
For some time they stood gazing upon one 
another without speaking. Then Edith said, 
under her breath : 

“They couldn’t have heard it, Marie! No 
one has gone to learn the cause ; no one is 
doing anything! We must let them know, 
so that they can help whoever wants help, 
for it must have been some one who is in 
danger.” 


198 From Lips in Delirium. 


“ Perhaps, after all, there is nothing more 
than the signal of the guide’s return. Do not 
excite yourself, Edith, dear,” said Mrs. Castle- 
mon, calmly. But her face was white, and 
there was a strained expression around her lips. 
“ We heard nothing after the shots, and if there 
were danger, surely some one would have 
shouted. It is always best to give the doubt 
when one doesn’t know.” 

“ But suppose Mr. Montgomery has been hurt, 
and there is need of assistance to get him home, 
Marie !” added the girl, with excited eyes. 
“ You are so quiet and so cool, but I cannot bear 
to feel that there may be harm done, and no one 
to help — ” 

“ If it will relieve you in any way, I will go to 
Mr. Deland and tell him what we heard,” Mrs. 
Castlemon replied, calmly. “ He will know 
what is best to be done. Of course, we would 
not neglect our duty. Stay here, dearest, and I 
will return as soon as I have found him, and told 
him this.” 

“You are always so very good !” murmured 
Edith, as she watched the other leave the room. 
Then she went to the window, and drew aside 


From Lips in Delirinm. 


199 • 


the curtain, shielding her eyes against the inner 
light Avith her hands, and staring into the dark- 
ness. But she could see and hear nothing out 
there. Darkness was profound, save far away 
toward the east where a faint glimmer of light- 
ning showed the course of the storm. In these 
flashes, a dim outline of the opposite mountain 
could be discerned, but the lake was indistin- 
guishable in the great darkness on this side of 
the mountain. Against the blackness outside, 
the light through the parted curtains streamed 
blindingly, and Edith stood against this in her 
loose wrapper and fallen hair like a beautiful 
vision. 

Mrs. Castlemon, as she left Edith’s room, did 
not go down to the parlor. She was pretty cer- 
tain she would not find Mr. Deland there, but 
with his friend at the other end of the hall. So 
she went in that direction, and tapping lightly 
upon the door, was not surprised when her tap 
was answered by Mr. Deland himself, who came 
out and closed the door, astonished to see her 
there, but giving no sign of this to her. 

“ Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon ? Is Miss Hallston worse — ” 


* 200 


Fi^om Lips in Delirium, 


She shook her head, her finger upon her lip. 
She was still pale, but she smiled up at him 
quite calmly as she told her errand. 

“ It may be nothing, of course,” she added, in 
conclusion, “ but it made Miss Hallston uncom- 
fortable to think it might be because of some 
harm to Mr. Montgomery.” 

He nodded, smiling to encourage her. Her 
words were startling, but he would not let his 
fear cause her discomfort. 

“ It is, in all probability, the guide returning,” 
he said, as though it were the merest incident. 
“ I will go down and find out, Mrs. Castlemon. 
Tell Miss Hallston she need really have no fear. 
I will let you know if there is anything more 
than ordinary the matter. It isn’t likely, 
though,” he hastened to add, as he walked 
beside her along the hall. “ This thing often 
occurs here, you know, and there is seldom 
more than slight discomfort comes of it.” 

“ Still, it isn’t pleasant to think one’s friends 
are in possible danger, Mr. Deland,” said Mrs. 
Castlemon, softly, but without a quiver in her 
voice. 

“ Montgomery is a fine fellow !” Mr. Deland 


From Lips in Delirium. 


201 


said, kindly, a sharp look in his eyes as he watched 
the emotionless face beside him, wondering if 
this were but the cloak of her pride or honest 
unconcern. “ Besides, we owe him gratitude, 
you know, for having saved Miss Hallston’s life. 
If not on his own account, we must save him 
because of that !” He laughed easily, as though 
he were amused, and paused for a moment at 
Miss Hallston’s door, where Mrs. Castlemon 
turned from him. “ It is more pleasant to pay 
off such debts, you know, so far as one can !” 

“ Yes,” she said, and her voice was suddenly 
cold. “ An act of bravery should never be for- 
gotten, Mr. Deland ; nor an act of cowardice !” 

Deland walked on down the hall to the stair- 
case, well aware that Mrs. Castlemon’s last words 
were a thrust at Montgomery’s affair in Montreal. 

“ She’s very beautiful and wonderfully jolly to 
talk to,” he said to himself; “but a fellow ’d have 
a pretty tough time trying to understand her! 
She’s got as many moods as a Turk 1 There’s a 
fine warm spot in her heart somewhere, though. 
She’s a friend to hold to 1” 

“ Hello !” exclaimed Jackson, who caught sight 
of him as he was passing through the office, 


202 


From Lips in Delirhtm. 


collaring him instantly. “Hello, I say, Deland ; 
what’s the row? Been invisible as a craw-fish 
since yon went off with Mansfield. Got a patient 
on your hands ? He looked pretty well demol- 
ished, didn’t he? And that was Miss Hallston 
came up with him ? Deuced pretty girl ! Come 
along to my room, will you, and give us a glimpse 
of you ! We won’t lose you again in a hurry, old 
fellow !” 

Mr. Deland shook his head, laughing. He was 
too well acquainted with the warm heart under 
this gay exterior to mince his words. 

“ I can’t, Jackson,” he said, decidedly. “ If 
you’ll come with me, and keep a quiet tongue. 
I’ll put you in the way of a sensation ! That’ll 
please you, eh ? I thought I knew my game !” 
And still laughing, arm in arm, they went out 
upon the piazza. 

The lights from the parlor windows glimmered 
through the darkness upon the lawn, making 
fantastic figures over the drenched grass ; but 
beyond the line of light all was as dark as the 
grave. Music and scraps of conversation and 
soft laughter drifted out with the flickering 
light, as the two stood on the steps looking off 


From Lips in Delirium, 203 

toward the lake and the mountain that shielded 
any mystery it might hold. 

“ Phew ! You don’t say !” murmured Jackson, 
when Deland had finished his storyftold in few 
but graphic words. “ Montgomery lost over 
there, eh ? They told us some cock-and-bull 
story, that we believed as much as we would 
believe in ghosts. And Mansfield’s as low as 
that, and you have your opinion about the acci- 
dental shot, and these mysterious shots the 
women heard ! By George, but it is a queer 
move ! I doubt, though, if we find out anything 
about these last reports. If it was Daily who 
fired the shots, where did he get his rifle ? I saw 
him go off, and he hadn’t such a thing as a rifle 
with him. Montgomery hadn’t, either, you 
know. And then, if it was Daily, he should have 
gotten in by this time. If you say so, we’ll inves- 
tigate without giving an alarm. There’s such a 
mighty wind made out of a whisper when there’s 
nothing else to do ! They evidently heard noth- 
ing out of the way in there. Let’s go to the 
kitchen and get a lantern or so, and go by our- 
selves., We can keep quiet about a thing if we 


204 From Lips in Deliriufn. 

choose, and the fewer the safer, you know. 
Mansfield’s all right to leave, eh ?” 

“ He was asleep when I came out, and likely 
to sleep for some time, poor fellow !” answered 
Deland, gravely. “ I think your plan a good 
one, Jackson. The less excitement the better. 
Miss Hallston is worked up enough about it, and 
a big time and big talk won’t relieve her.” 

“ She isn’t specially interested in Montgomery, 
is she?” asked Jackson. “ I had my opinion of 
some other fellow being the lucky one, from 
things I’ve heard. Montgomery isn’t the fellow 
to suit her, I should think. He’s not bad as to 
looks, and has a pretty big pile of the needful, 
you know, but he isn’t just Miss Hallston’s style, 
it seems to me. Of course, it’s none of my busi- 
ness either way,” added the good-natured, loqua- 
cious fellow, “ but one gets a notion, as the 
Yankees say, and it sticks !” 

“ Montgomery’s rich enough, if that’s all you 
want,” said Deland, shortly, as they entered the 
kitchen. 

Daily had not returned, but they did not 
expect otherwise, and were not disappointed. 
They got the lanterns, with some trifling excuse, 


From Lips in Delirium. 


205 


and went out again by the rear way, down 
around to the front, and across the lawn to the 
road, stumbling now and then over the rough 
ground, with only the dim light of the lanterns. 
They did not talk much going down the road 
toward the carry. Some indefinable sense of 
mystery set the seal of silence upon their lips. 
Many strange things occurred among the moun- 
tains ; each of the men had been through experi- 
ences that would thrill a listener if repeated 

L 

around a winter fire with ghostly shadows on 
the wall, but this was different. 

It was some little distance to the carry, and 
although they walked as fast as was possible in 
the darkness and over the rough road, yet it was 
some few minutes ere they reached it. Nothing 
was stirring. Everything was quiet save the 
low lapping of the water as the wind stole along 
the surface, and the cry of a night-bird some- 
where away up on the mountain. The men 
stood and listened, swinging their lanterns, now 
above their heads that the light might strike 
further over the carry, now lowering it and 
looking along the ground for any trace of foot- 
steps. Nothing out of the way seemed to have 


2o6 


From Lips in DeliriMin, 


touched the quiet darkness or disturbed the low 
murmur of the water and the watch of the bird 
among the trees. 

Hello !”. exclaimed Deland, suddenly, lower- 
ing his lantern and starting forward in consid- 
erable excitement. “What’s this, Jackson? 
There’s been a struggle or something here. 
Look at the footsteps thick in the mud — and the 
mark of a fallen body — and, by the lord Harry, 
here are traces of blood ! What has happened, 
Jackson?” 

His friend was as excited as himself. He 
swung his lantern to and fro, stooping the better 
to examine the marks upon the soft ground. 
There was no doubt that a struggle of some sort 
had taken place there. Footsteps that had min- 
gled and been trodden over, making it almost 
impossible to distinguish one from another, were 
over a good bit of ground. Some dark stain, 
too, that Deland recognized at once as blood, 
trailed for a short distance beyond the spot 
toward the road. 

The men stood for a moment looking into each 
other’s eyes, trying to read there some solution 
of the tragedy. 


From Lips in Delirium. 


207 


“What do you suppose it is, Deland?” asked 
Jackson, after a pause, in an undertone, as though 
afraid even the night might hear of the great 
evil committed in its shadow. “ It’s terribly 
suggestive, and yet there is nothing definite to 
go upon. It may be Montgomery — poor old fel- 
low ! — and it may be no more than the struggle 
with some beast or other.” 

“ That is out of probability,” returned Deland, 
steadily. *“ If it had been any animal, there 
would have been tracks of such. There is noth- 
ing here but the marks of men. It is some horri- 
ble thing, I am afraid, Jackson ! I don’t know 
why I should think so, either, but there has been 
so much of the mysterious lately — ” 

‘^There’ll be blue lights burning around your 
head presently, Joe ! Come, what shall I tell the 
ladies, pray, when we get back, and they ask for 
the solving of their wonderful shots ? You can 
see for yourself, there is nothing here but a lot 
of foot-prints that any one might have made, and 
a streak or so of blood, that is more than half 
likely to be the blood of a deer.” 

“ Nevertheless, I don’t like the looks df it, 
George,” said Deland, gravely, though he 


208 


From Lips in Delirium. 


allowed his friend to lead him back toward the 
hotel, his arm linked in his. “ And I shall be 
uncommonly glad to see Montgomery turn up 
all right and satisfactorily.’' 

“ As he’ll do to-morrow at breakfast, of 
course,” said Jackson, calmly. “ There isn’t 
anything for us to do but get back and hush up 
any excitement the ladies may be undergoing. 
Besides, there’s Mansfield may be needing your 
attention.” 

“ Well,” they were back at the rear entrance 
again, and paused a moment on the doorstep, 
“ you settle about these things, Jackson, and I’ll 
go up to Allan, stopping at Miss Hallston’s door, 
to tell them what we have discovered — ” 

“ What we haven’t discovered, you mean,” 
said Jackson, with his hearty laugh. 

At Miss Hallston’s door Deland paused and 
rapped. There was a slight pause, and then 
Mrs. Castlemon herself opened it to him. He 
was quite himself by that time, and told her 
quietly there was nothing to fear from the shots 
they had heard. 

“ It was probably some hunting-party firing 
their salute to their hotel,” he said, easily. “ It 










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From Lips in Deliruim. 


209 


is too bad you and Miss Hallston have been 
alarmed by it. There is really nothing to fear. 
As to Mr. Montgomery, it is probable that he 
will be at breakfast in the morning as lively as 
ever. I trust Miss Hallston has recovered.” 

“ You are very kind to have taken this trouble 
for us,” said Mrs. Castlemon, in her sweet, low, 
even voice. “ I am glad you found nothing 
alarming. One is liable to misconstrue such 
sounds at a time like this. We shall be glad, 
indeed, to see Mr. Montgomery in his old place 
to-morrow. Miss Hallston agrees with me in 
this wish, too. Yes, thank you, Mr. Deland, she 
is much better — quite herself, indeed ; but we 
think a little rest will be good for her.” 

“ 1 am glad to hear it,” he said, gravely. “ She, 
too, will be at her old place at table to-morrow, 
I hope.” 

“ I only hope your patient will have recovered 
much of his strength after the night’s rest,” 
added Mrs. Castlemon, with her swift thought 
for others. 

They bade each other good-night. 

Deland returned to Allan’s room. He had 
made up his mind to stay with him through the 


210 


From Lips in Deliritim. 


night ; making up a hasty bed upon the floor with 
the help of one of the chambermaids, he did not 
fully undress, knowing that at any moment he 
might be needed at the bedside. He turned the 
light low down, but left a faint glimmer in the 
room, though shaded from Allan’s eyes. Then 
telling the chambermaid to send the boy Jim to 
him, he made himself as comfortable as circum- 
stances would permit. 

When the boy came up. Deland held a whis- 
pered conversation with him as to his being 
ready at any minute he might be needed during 
the night, with the promise of what looked to 
the boy a pretty generous reward for any such 
bit of night-work, and then locking the door, 
threw himself on the bed, to get what sleep he 
could. But sleep would not easily come to him 
after the strange events so crowded upon him. 
Through the dim light his eyes would turn to 
the bed where his friend lay in that stupor that 
was not a healthy sleep, and thoughts would 
come to him of this and that and the other — that 
mad race of the runaway horses ; the cowardly 
man who had not moved to render assistance ; 
the beautiful woman, with her ease of manner 


From Lips in Delirium , 


2 I I 


and sweet graciousness, mingling confusedly 
with the other and this last day’s occurrence. 

“ It’s a deucedly queer thing, the whole lot of 
it!” he said to himself, turning on his pillow, 
and steadily trying to keep his eyes away from 
the other bed, and keep them closed. “ And, in 
spite of Jackson, I think it mighty strange why 
those tracks should have been there. Of 
course, there is the possibility of its being 
as he argued ; but he’s easy-going anyway, and 
would solve it in some way to get it off his 
mind.” 

Still, he could not sleep, and he could not 
keep his thoughts from that subject, nor solve 
the opening mystery that had so strangely 
drawn him in its hold. The light would glim- 
mer in such a maddening way over the wall, 
and flicker faintly across the carpet, reaching 
out in long, thin, ghostly shapes toward the bed 
and the face of the sleeper. It seemed to him 
he had lived a lifetime ere morning came. But 
he had lived but twelve short hours at best, and 
there was little change in Allan’s condition. He 
lay very still and white upon the pillows, and 
did not rouse. 


2 I 2 


From Lips in Delirium. 


Mrs. Castlemon looked very grave when 
Deland told her of his condition, as they stood 
for a moment in the hall after breakfast. Per- 
haps she knew — certainly she had passed through 
the same fever herself — just what it was that 
Allan had to fight. 

“And he takes no nourishment?’' she said, 
slowly. “That is bad, isn’t it, Mr. Deland ? He 
ought to keep up as much strength as he can to 
fight the worst, if the worst comes.” 

“The delirium, you mean?” he asked, as 
gravely as she had spoken. He knew that he 
could not deceive her, no matter how easily 
they could smooth over the matter with Miss 
Hallston. “ I trust he will come out of this 
without such danger, Mrs. Castlemon. As to 
nourishment, I had him take a good dose of 
whiskey last night. That puts fire into the 
blood, you know. He was pretty well 
exhausted, too, and I think he had little rest 
the night before, though he told me nothing 
about that. But if he had, and with the exertion 
of that hurried scramble up the mountain, the 
thorough drenching he got, and this wound, 
all together will give him a solid tussle for it. 


From Lips in Delirium, 


213 


But we will do our best. I have had a dispatch 
sent to his mother. Dr. Mainton advised it last 
night.” 

She looked up at him swiftly. There was, 
indeed, no deceiving those brilliant eyes that 
looked down to your soul. 

“He is low, then, Mr. Deland? It is worse 
than I feared ! Is there nothing I can do ? I 
am a good nurse, if you would try me. I could, 
perhaps, be of some service till his mother 
does come.* A woman, you know, somehow 
understands better what a sick person would 
like.” 

She smiled as she spoke, but she was very 
much in earnest, and, although he smiled 
back at her — she was so sweet and beautiful 
and womanly! — he was as much in earnest as 
she. 

“ If there is anything you can do, I shall be 
very glad of your help, Mrs. Castlemon,” he 
said, gravely. “ It is good to feel that the poor 
fellow has such a generous friend ready to go to 
him at any moment; It is almost enough to 
make one envy him.” 

“ No.” She drew back from him, and the 


214 


From Lips in Delirium. 


smile died on her lips. “ Never wish misfortune 
to come upon you, Mr. Deland, no matter how 
* gracious the compliment you would convey. 
Sadness and trouble come soon enough, without 
our wishing them to hasten.” Then she 
shrugged her pretty shoulders, as though to 
shake off the too deep earnestness of her words, 
as she added : “ Your promise has not been veri- 
fied, Mr. Deland. As you see, Mr. Montgomery 
has not appeared at breakfast.” 

“ But he will come,” Deland saidj^ cheerily, as 
he passed up the stairs, turning to answer her; 
and looking down upon her so, she was bewitch- 
ingly beautiful. “ He will come before the day 
is over, Mrs. Castlemon. You need have no 
fear.” 

“ One must wish for the safe return of one’s 
friends,” she said, lightly, as she turned away 
toward the door leading upon the piazza. “Mr. 
Montgomery has friends here, you remember, 
Mr. Deland, who must wish for his return.” 

“ And she’s still one of the strangest women,” 
muttered Mr. Deland, as he. went on up the stairs 
to his friend’s room. “ And Montgomery’s dis- 
appearance is one of the queerest things I ever 


From Lips in Delirhwt. 


215 


knew. Daily hasn’t come back yet, but he’ll be 
here before long, and we’ll know the worst.” 

Still, he was dissatisfied with himself and the 
world in general, as he opened the door of 
Allan’s room and entered. 

Hastily glancing toward the bed to ascertain 
if there was any change, he was somewhat star- 
tled to find Allan’s eyes open upon him, but 
without a trace of recognition in them. Crossing 
to the bedside, he leaned over him with as cheery 
a face as he could muster, asking, gayly, but in a 
low tone : 

“ How are you, Allan, old fellow ? Heigho, 
but you gave us a pretty scare ! Been sleeping 
like a top, haven’t you ? And hungry, too, I 
suppose — ” 

He broke off further words, for there was not 
the slightest intelligence on the white face or in 
the open, feverishly bright eyes. Pouring a few 
drops of liquor into a wine-glass, he leaned over 
and lifted Allan’s head from the pillow, resting it 
upon his arm as he held the glass to his lips. 

“ Drink it, that’s a good fellow,” he said, coax- 
ingly. “ Drink it for me, Allan ! Now you’re 


2 i 6 From Lips in Delirium. 

all right ! Just lie still and you’ll he better 
presently.” 

Still the bright, unrecognizing eyes turned 
from him to wander about the room as though 
in search of some one. Deland crossed to the 
bell-cord and pulled it. When Jim answered 
the ring, he ordered him to send up Dr. Mainton. 

“ It’s as well to have him just now,” he said to 
himself. “ The poor fellow needs something to 
strengthen him and keep him out of this state. 
I wouldn’t care to take the responsibility of 
giving him a dose of any sort of medicine, 
though I can do pretty well with an ordinary 
case. Mainton’s close-mouthed, too, so that if 
there’s anything said it’ll go no further.” For 
Deland understood that there was danger of 
Allan Mansfield’s falling into delirium from the 
present looks of things. “ And delirium,” he 
added, knowingly, as he waited for the doctor — 
“ delirium is a thing I have no special fancy 
for. There are lots of things a fellow might 
say when he’s out of his mind that he would 
sooner die than utter at any other time !” 

His fear was not without foundation, as he 
discovered before long. Dr. Mainton had been 


From Lips in Delirium. 217 

with him but a short time, and they were con- 
sidering the patient’s condition, when he startled 
them by addressing them, though with a faint 
half-consciousness that betrayed how weak he 
was. 

“ That’s you, Deland ?” How weak the voice 
was! Not the clear, hearty voice of Allan 
Mansfield, that his friends liked to hear ! 

What’s the matter with me ? Why am I here 
and you and — ” he seemed to lose trace of his 
thoughts, and his eyes wandered from the one 
to the other, recognizing neither. “ Oh 1 ” he 
started up, as though with sudden recollection, 
his eyes brilliant with swift life, though his voice 
fell to a whisper of awe and dread. “ You found 
me in spite of them, did you ? I felt that you 
would ! It’s a deuced bad place to get caught 
in ; but who’d have thought of such a den among 
these mountains ? Ha, ha ! Ha, ha, ha ! Only 
I couldn’t help fearing that you wouldn’t find me 
in time ! And if Edith should know — - They’re 
villainous-spoken pirates, aren’t they, those two 1 
But the woman — I’ve seen that woman some- 
where, Deland ! And they didn’t murder me — 
and you found me out — and — and — I can’t 


Co7ivalescent, 


218 

remember. But do you know ” — he leaned for- 
ward, startling his listeners more than mere 
delirium would startle them — “ do you know — ^ 
that I believe — they have got Montgomery 

He sank back among the pillows, staring 
vacantly at the ceiling, and at them, and at the 
room, panting as though he had been through 
some great struggle or some terrible excitement. 
And Deland and Dr. Mainton stood speechless, 
looking into each other’s eyes, wondering how 
much of truth there might be in these words. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

CONVALESCENT. 

Those few word's in regard to Montgomery 
were the last coherent words Allan Mansfield 
uttered for many days; there were broken sen- 
tences and snatches of words that bore little sig- 
nificance save as the two men who had under- 
taken che care of him put them with what they 
caught at first, and which, so placed, were some- 


Convalescent. 


219 

what startling in effect ; but the eyes were 
flamed with fever, and the voice too weak to 
carry thought beyond the lips. 

Mrs. Mansfield arrived the third day after this 
illness, when Allan was too low to know or care 
who was beside him ; and she gave him the faith- 
ful attention only a mother can give. 

She was a proud, self-repressed but gracious 
woman, and it was not many days ere every one 
at the hotel was interested in and attentive to 
her. They were friends of Allan, she told her- 
self, and therefore their attentions were most 
grateful. She was so proud of her son. He 
had always had a good word for all, and in 
return every one had a kind word for him, and 
was deeply concerned now he was ill. 

“ It is almost like being a queen,” she said to 
Edith one day, smiling up at the beautiful girl 
who leaned behind her chair. And she reached 
up to fake one of her warm, little hands in hers, 
with a look of love on her face that made the 
girl very happy. ‘‘ Here I sit, my dear, and his 
friends come to me with their good words for 
him, and for me, his mother ; and you do not 
know how delightful it is. Perhaps I care too 


2 20 


Convalescent. 


much for him, Edith, but he is worthy of a 
mother’s pride.” 

“ Or of any one’s pride,” said the girl, softly, a 
beautiful color upon her face. He was so 
thoughtful for every one, you see, dear Mrs. 
Mansfield, that, now he is ill, every one is 
thoughtful of him.” 

“Doctor Mainton and Mr. Deland are devoted 
to him,” said the elder lady by and by, her eyes 
looking far away to the mountain beyond the 
quiet lake. “ I think he could not have had bet- 
ter care at home, Edith, dear. Tell me again 
about what happened that dreadful day, if you 
will, my dear. I cannot hear it too often.” 

So the girl sat down beside her, and repeated 
once again the story of the pretty luncheon 
under the pines ; her own reckless determination 
to venture up the mountain alone ; the appear- 
ance of Allan and Mr. Montgomery ; and .the 
manner of his saving her life as she sat under the 
tree with the ferns and the flowers in her lap. 
She described with wonderful vividness the sud- 
den descent of the shower, the darkness over the 
hills, the disappearance of Mr. Montgomery and 
their final arrival at home — Allan too weak to 


Co7ivalescent . 


22 1 


get to his room without assistance after the fear- 
ful wound in his head. To all of which the 
mother would listen -with rapt attention, her pale, 
proud face showing her pride in her son, while 
the face of the girl would lighten and deepen in 
color, or grow sad with the different memories 
awakened of that fearful day upon the mountain. 
Only one thing she did not repeat, and that was 
the words of love that had passed between them. 
Those, she told herself, with a sweet flitting of 
warmer color over her face, were for her alone. 

The days passing brought little if any strength 
to the patient and no news whatever of the man 
who so strangely went out of their lives. As to 
the startling words that Allan uttered that first 
day of his delirium, his friends kept them to 
themselves, arguing with each other the possible 
truth that lay beyond feverish fanc}^ 

“ Who is she ?” Allan would mutter, his 
bright eyes upon one or other of his friends. “ A 
tawny mustache,” he would whisper, vaguely. 
‘‘ Deuce take the mask — and Edith mustn’t know 
— she would think — for twelve months — Where’s 
Montgomery ?” 

He invariably finished any connected sentence 


222 


Convalescent, 


with this query as to Montgomery, who seemed 
to be upon his mind continually, and to be a 
source of fear and trouble. • He would turn his 
head restlessly to and fro upon the pillow, with 
indistinct words upon his lips, and only Mont- 
gomery’s name mingled with these mutterings. 
Dr. Mainton and Mr. Deland would soothe him 
as best they could at such times, and when he 
grew more violent, and struggled with them to 
leave the bed and go in search of Montgomery, 
whispering, with a fearful mystery in his voice, 
that he knew where he was, and could find him 
in spite of his oath — he would go to him in spite 
of his oath — they would hold him down and 
quiet him as no others could have done. But it 
left a strange depression upon these two friends. 
Mrs. Mansfield was never allowed to be with 
them during Allan’s violent ravings, and she 
knew so little about the mystery surrounding 
the wound and the disappearance, that she could 
find no solution to the strange words her son 
muttered to himself or to his physicians. 

“ This' is growing pretty rough,” Deland said 
one day, as he and the doctor sat in the latter’s 
room, smoking, after dinner.. “ I wish the poor 


Convalescent. 


223 


fellow would make haste out of this fever. It 
isn’t pleasant to feel that he is continually telling 
us things he would never repeat but for the 
fever. There is some mystery in this affair that 
is none of our business, and I, for one, would 
rather know nothing about it. There is some- 
thing strange about his ride over here from the 
lake. He won’t whisper a word about that, and 
looked considerably uncomfortable, I remember, 
that first morning when we were speaking of the 
trip over. Miss Hallston evidently didn’t just 
see the sense of his shyness about speaking of it, 
and went off in something of a huff. Of course, 
they made it up later on, but it is strange, say 
what you will, Mainton. I don’t like mysteries 
myself, and had far rather be out of this one. 
It’s deuced queer where Montgomery is and 
where under the sun Allan got this wound from ! 
I don’t like the looks of it, and I may as well 
relieve my mind to you, old fellow. You know 
as much as I, and there isn’t any harm in speak- 
ing of it to you. I think I would surely burst 
if I couldn’t relieve myself to some one!” 

I should think you might Avell relieve your 
mind of its doubts. It’ll make you feel better to 


224 


Convalescent, 


have it out with some one. I’m adamantine, you 
know, and do not in the least mind your firing 
any number of adjectives at me. It is queer 
about Montgomery, and the way this wound was 
given to Mansfield, but as to Allan’s words in 
delirium, you know as well as I that one can 
place not the least reliance upon such. Besides, 
what may sound very mysterious to us, knowing 
so little, may be nothing but the simplest thing 
when fully laid in the light. Of course, I cannot 
undertake to explain why he did not desire to go 
into details regarding his trip over here, but so 
far as I can see — you will pardon me. Deland — I 
do not consider that any of our business. He 
can settle such affairs himself.” 

Deland smoked on in silence for some 
moments, his gaze so far off that his companion 
would not undertake to disturb him. Then he 
leaned forward to knock the ashes from his 
cigar with most elaborate care as he said, 
slowly : 

Mansfield isn’t the fellow to do any dis- 
honest or dishonorable act, Mainton. If he 
chooses to keep any secret, it is his own, I am 
sure. I have no desire to pry into his affairs. 


Convalescent. 


225 


You need not fret about my doing such a thing. 
But I do connect this wound and Mansfield’s 
excitement and Montgomery’s disappearance ! 
It is borne in upon me, you know ! It’s a 
mighty queer thing, taken at best, and why 
should Allan rave about him as he has and does, 
if he were not vividly stamped on his mind as 
one of the last impressions ? I know, of course, 
that there is little reliance to be placed in the 
ravings of a delirious man, but in this case it 
seems quite clear to me. If I do either an injus- 
tice, I shall most humbly apologize ; but I don’t 
believe I do.” 

Dr. Mainton nodded. He blew a cloud of 
smoke around his head, and then suddenly 
waved it aside, leaning forward to speak in more 
earnestness than Mr. Deland had expected of 
him on the subject : 

“ I tell you what. Deland,” he said ; “ Mans- 
field’s a good fellow. You agree with me 
there ?” 

'‘Of course.” Mr. Deland was considerably 
surprised. 

“ He’s as open and honorable and true as the 
day?” 


226 


Convalescent. 


“ Yes,” most emphatically, from the other. 

“ And he’s worthy any woman’s regard and 
any man’s trust ?” 

Deland removed his cigar from his lips, and 
leaned forward over the arm of his chair, his 
eyes steadily upon his friend. 

“What the deuce are you driving at. Main- 
ton?” he demanded, in amazement. “Are you 
studying up for a jury ? Or are you trying to 
get ahead of me with my opinions, and so 
charge down upon me at some unfortunate 
moment for my discomfiture ? I can’t make out 
what you are driving at, and I’ve never been 
considered more than ordinarily stupid. I say 
it in all humility.” 

Doctor Mainton laughed again, but not so 
easily. He emphasized the words he uttered 
now with the forefinger of one hand, and tapped 
Deland’s arm-chair at each word, as though 
to impress upon him the magnitude of his 
words. 

“Look here, Joe,” he said; “did you ever 
realize what it is to be accused of any deed that 
must blast your manhood and honor and take 
away the best there is in life? Do you know 


Convalescent, 


227 


that that is what you are doing to Montgomery, 
and at the time when he is not here to contra- 
dict you or defend himself — " 

But Fm only saying it to you,” burst in the 
other, indignantly. I don’t expect you to blab 
it to the world ! You are as much concerned in 
this affair as I am. I didn’t ask Mansfield to 
get hurt, and then fly into delirium and tell his 
secrets ! If he does, and if things look pretty 
black for thie man who so mysteriously disap- 
pears while in company with him and just 
before the shot, why I can’t help it, surely ! If 
it is mysterious, / didn’t make it happen ! But 
I can’t help my thoughts, and if you can, you’re 
more magnanimous and generous than I profess 
to be.” 

“You said the other night that you were 
attracted to Montgomery in some way, in spite 
of his cowardly act out there in Canada. You 
say you have never had any other occasion to 
call him cowardly. It is sure he was nothing of 
the sort on the lake nor in the search for Miss 
Hallston. Because he has disappeared in this 
strange manner doesn’t argue that he disap- 
peared of his own free will — ” 


228 


Convalescent, 


‘‘ But I am sure Daily searched as thoroughly 
as any man could, and found nothing of him save 
those tracks we found down by the lake and 
trails of the same from the spot where he first 
got trace of Mansfield and Miss Hallston. Of 
course, there are many ways to account for this. 
He may have fallen into some treacherous hole 
and died over there, or he may have wandered 
off into the densest part of the woods, and it 
have been impossible to find him.” Deland was 
growing excited. It seemed so very clear to 
him. Of course, I have nothing against Mont- 
gomery — not a thing in the world, unless it is 
that stupid affair out in Montreal — and why you 
should think so, I cannot see. But it is hardly 
probable that he died over there so mysteri- 
ously. I cannot account for my feeling regard- 
ing this. I may be wrong, and doing him wrong, 
but it is so very clear to me. There is some 
mystery about it, anyway. I’m sure Mansfield’s 
words prove that.” 

Dr. Mainton made no reply to this, and they 
sat in silence until the lateness of the hour 
warned them it was time to return to Allan’s 
room. They made a practice of going together 


Convalescent. 


229 


to his room during the evening after their smoke, 
and then, when bed-time arrived, one or the 
other of them remained in the room for the 
night, and the other went to his own room. It 
was in this way that they kept up their health, 
and were so able to take better care of the 
patient. Mrs. Mansfield was with him a great 
part of the time during the day, and sat with 
him while the doctors smoked in the early even- 
ing, but they would never allow her to remain 
there at night; and although she would gladly 
have done anything one could do, she saw the 
wisdom in this, and accepted it with her quiet 
grace and calm self-control, that won the admira- 
tion of those about her. 

On the evening of this conversation in Dr. 
Mainton’s room, Mrs. Mansfield went to Miss 
Hallston’s room, after leaving her son. She was 
attracted to Edith by her sweetness and beauty 
and by the shrewd knowledge that the girl was 
more to Allan than either had said. It was good 
for her, she said, to be with her and to have the 
company of such a woman as Mrs. Castlemon 
during her trouble. It was sweet to have such 
sympathy as they gave her. It was delightful 


230 


Convalescent. 


to sit with them and hear the old, worn story of 
Allan’s bravery. It was almost as good as to 
have him with her, she told herself. And to the 
girl this companionship was very dear. 

He is really no better,” she said, as she drew 
Edith down beside her on the couch where they 
placed her. “ I see very few signs of his 
recovery, dearest. But his friends are like 
angels of mercy, indeed. They never leave him 
without I am with him. But it is so sad to hear 
him murmuring such strange things as he lies 
there, knowing no one — not even his mother. 
They will not let me stay when he gets these fits 
of delirium, if they know it, but sometimes, 
when they are away in the early evening, he 
nearly breaks my heart with his murmurs ! 
There is little that he says that I can understand, 
but sometimes he starts up and cries out such 
strange things, and it is all I can do to quiet him 
or reassure him that there is nothing to so dis- 
turb him.” 

“ It must be so hard for you, you poor dear !” 
whispered Edith, softly, smoothing tenderly the 
soft hand held in hers. “ Is he very violent, Mrs. 
Mansfield ? Is there nothing they can give him 


Convalescent, 


231 


to make him quiet and so keep his strength ? It 
seems to me he can get no strength unless he is 
kept as quiet as possible/’ 

“ Oh, I do not tell them about it,” said Mrs. 
Mansfield, gravely. “ I am so afraid if they 
knew he was at all violent with me they would 
not leave me, and it is necessary they should 
have rest, and one can get no good nurse here, 
and besides,” with a mother’s fondness, “ I love 
to be with him alone even that short time, dear- 
est !” 

“ But he is not really violent with you ?” asked 
Mrs. Castlemon, softly, with frank sympathy. 
“We hope so soon to have Mr. Mansfield him- 
self among us, dear Mrs. Mansfield, that I hope 
there is nothing serious in these attacks of 
delirium. Wouldn’t it be best to tell the doc- 
tors, if they continue, rather than have him 
weakened ? They are such trying things — these 
delirious attacks, you know.” 

“He isn’t really violent, no,” answered Mrs. 
Mansfield, a sweet, faint flush upon her face at 
the few words of friendship from the beautiful 
woman opposite her. “ He only cries out such 
queer things, and murmurs about some woman 


2^2 


Convalescent, 


whom he declares, over and over, that he knows, 
and some mysterious things of a night in the 
woods, and murderers, and Mr. Montgomery’s 
being taken by some one or other. And he 
always ends,” she added, with a tender pressure 
upon Edith’s light hand, “ with the injunction — 
always whispered most earnestly — that Edith 
must not know ! It’s nothing but the ravings of 
fever, of course, but it all sounds so real when I 
am sitting there alone with him, that it frightens 
me sometimes. You know of nothing to cause 
him this uneasiness, either of you ?” 

An indescribable change fell upon Edith’s face. 
The sweet, warm color died out, leaving her very 
quiet, but pale ; the dark eyes, that had been so 
full of life and sympathy, grew rather cold in 
expression, and would not meet the searching 
eyes of the mother bent upon her. Even the 
small hand Mrs. Mansfield held so closely in hers 
grew cold and trembled slightly. 

“ Of course, I know nothing of such a thing,” 
said Mrs. Castlemon, gravely and sweetly, know- 
ing that the mother would have some reply, and 
seeing the strange change upon Edith. “ It is 
only certain that Mr. Mansfield can know 


Convalescent . 


233 


nothing of murderers and any one into whose 
hands Mr. Montgomery could have fallen, any 
more than he could fret over some woman he 
cannot place. You need not worry about what 
is said in delirium, dear Mrs. Mansfield. One is 
never accountable at such a time. The strangest 
things come into one’s mind — truly, I know, 
because I have been through the same fever, as 
Edith knows — and I kept talking, they told me 
afterward, of the silliest things about people I 
could not of course know. And I was certain 
some great calamity was going to fall upon me 
and some one whom I loved very much, and all 
that absurd stuff. Truly you need not think 
twice about what your son says, Mrs. Mansfield. 
It is only that ravings will weaken him. Rest is 
what he needs.” 

Still that strange coldness remained upon 
Edith’s face, and no word broke the silence of 
her lips. 

And you would advise me to tell the doctors, 
dear Mrs. Castlemon? You think it is right for 
them to know ?” 

“ You know as well, if not better than I, what 
should be done,” answered Mrs. Castlemon softly, 


234 


Convalescent. 


but there was a shadow in her eyes that the 
other could not comprehend. 

So the evening passed, and Edith someway left 
the conversation to her companions, sitting very 
quiet and cold beside Mrs* Mansfield. But by 
and by the feeling grew in her heart that after all 
it was but a foolish dream of hers that Allan had 
told her he loved her ! He could not have ever 
told her that. Did not these two women say he 
was a man to be proud of ? He loved her and 
then to cry out of some woman whom he knew ! 
She had heard from Mr. Endicott, in a most 
innocent manner, that some guest arrived that 
first morning at an unearthly hour, and when 
she had asked Allan, he had hesitated, and 
turned the question. She could forgive an 
unkindness to herself alone, but she would never 
bear any man’s deceit. If he did not wish her 
to know why he had arrived at such an hour — 
perhaps she was doing him an injustice, but she 
doubted that — he should have told her frankly 
where he had been. 

Was it any of her concern whether he remained 
at the lake over night or rode out at the hour 
they named ? But for him to attempt to deceive 


Convalescent. 


235 


her, to turn her question aside, as though she 
were nothing to him, as though he had not 
shown her in every way a man could show a 
woman that he cared for her, was quite beyond 
her endurance. She was sorry, very sorry, that 
he was so ill ; and she had forgiven the few words 
of disagreement they uttered upon that morning, 
but here had his mother told her of some mys- 
tery that must affect her — that Allan declared 
that “ Edith ” must not know. 

When Mrs. Mansfield rose at last to leave 
them, she drew Edith in her arms with sudden 
emotion new to her pride, and touched her 
sweet, cold face with her lips, as she said, softly, 
for the girl alone : 

“ You will be good to him if there is ever need, 
dearest ?” 

And with a swift softening of her hard heart, 
Edith murmured that she would, her eyes sud- 
denly filled with tears of regret for her unkind 
thoughts already reigning in her heart. And 
when she was gone, the girl threw herself upon 
the couch in a passion of tears, burying her head 
among the cushions in shame for her fleeting 
self-control. 


236 


Convalescent. 


“ My poor, dear, sweet girl !” whispered Mrs. 
Castlemon’s musical voice, as her gentle hands 
smoothed the half-buried head among the cush- 
ions. “ My naughty, hard-hearted girl ! As 
though her Marie could not see with wide eyes 
what is wrong with the dear, wilful heart !” 

“ You don’t know !” cried Edith, suffocatedly, 
burying her head still deeper in the stuffy cush- 
ions. “ You could not guess one half the mean- 
ness of your naughty girl’s heart, Marie ! I am 
very, very unkind and hard and unfeeling ! I 
am so sorry I could for one minute let such 
thoughts come about the nicest — ” 

'' Oh, yes,” said Marie, in the fond, foolish but 
comforting way she had with this girl. “We 
know just how nice and how big and good he is, 
my dearest girl! We would bury our pretty 
heads quite out of sight, because we are so 
ashamed of ourselves ! And you deserve to do 
it, too, you unkind girl !” 

“ And I couldn’t even hide that from you !” 
whispered Edith, by and by, when she had 
grown calm enough to withdraw her head 
from the cushions, and lay with her beautiful 
hair disordered and falling upon the pillows. 


Convalescent , 


237 


while Mrs. Castlemon’s soft hands touched the 
bright head tenderly. “ There is just nothing 
you cannot see, Marie ! If I had committed 
murder, you would find it out at once ! I 
wouldn’t have the slightest hope with you !” 

She lifted up her face from the cushions, very 
arch and sweet and beautiful, with the -traces of 
tears still upon the long lashes, and then sud- 
denly reached up with a startled cry : 

“What is the matter, Marie? You are ill — 
you are faint. Let me call Dr. Mainton or Mr. 
Deland! Let me do something for you ! What 
is it?” 

Mrs. Castlemon pushed her down among the 
cushions again and said, quite steadily, though 
the pallor had not left her face nor the fear died 
out of her eyes : 

“ It is the heat, perhaps, my dearest Edith. I 
am already better. We have had considerable 
excitement, too, you know, of late. I am such a 
quiet body the least excitement undoes me for a 
long time ! I think the most sensible thing for 
you and for me is to go to bed at once and rest! 
To-morrow may bring us some good news of 
Mr. Mansfield — ” 


238 


Convalescent. 


“ And solve the mystery about Mr. Mont- 
gomery, too !” added Edith, with a new tone 
of voice. She rose from the couch and rang the 
bell. 

What are you going to do ?” asked Mrs. 
Castlemon, now quite herself, though the color 
did not return to her cheeks. 

I shall order for you what I think best,” was 
the quiet reply, an altogether new touch in 
Edith’s manner. “You are ill, Marie, dearest, 
and I shall take it upon my hands to see that 
you are taken care of. You may as well be 
still,” as Mrs. Castlemon would have spoken. 
“ I shall do as I please in this, my dear. I think 
it time some one looked after you. You are 
always devoting yourself to others.” 

A slow flush stole into the pale cheeks, as 
Edith ordered a glass of wine and a biscuit from 
the waitress who answered the bell. 

“ It is good to be taken care of,” she said, 
sweetly, “ but it is quite unnecessary, Edith !” 

Edith only shook her head gravely, and said 
she knew best that time. 

And in the morning when Mrs. Mansfield 
went to her son’s room to inquire as to his con- 


Convalescent, 


239 

dition, Mr. Deland told her with his face lighted 
by pleasure that Allan was starting off in a good 
way toward recovery. 

“He slept well and naturally, for the first 
time, last night,’' he said. “ And he woke up 
quite himself, although of course very weak. 
You shall see him presently, Mrs. Mansfield.” 

But when Mrs. Mansfield was at last shown 
into the room, and Allan was smiling up into 
her face, his hands held in hers, he turned to 
Deland and asked, with a sudden thoughtfulness 
chasing the smile away : 

“ I have had a sort of consciousness all along 
that there had something happened to Mont- 
gomery, Deland ! Has he turned up yet C 

“ He’ll turn up all right, by and by, old fel- 
low,” Deland said, with an encouraging smile. 
“ You needn’t bother about him.” 

But Allan’s face grew rigid with some hidden 
fear, and his voice was scarcely audible as he 
whispered, hoarsely: 

“ Merciful powers I They have got him then 


240 


On the Lake, 


CHAPTER XV.* 

ON THE LAKE. 

Edith and Mr. Mansfield were rowing upon the 
lake. Evening shadows were setting down and 
out from the mountain, leaving the boat upon the 
water solitary and almost motionless. There had 
been other boating-parties on the water during 
the early evening, but this one boat was then the 
only one stirring. It was very still, and the air 
was heavy with the odor of balsam drifting down 
from the trees above. The west was soft with 
faintest rose of after-sunset. The world was full 
of peace and beauty stretching out and around 
the two in the boat, drifting aimlessly with the 
lifting and falling of the water along the shore, 
that set little ripples surging to and fro and 
widening toward the heart of the lake. Silence 
falling upon them, Allan had let the oars lie in 
the row-locks so that they just trailed above the 
lake, making tiny ripples and marring the reflec- 
tion, and leaned forward, one elbow on his knee. 


OP WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, EDITHS’ HE ASKED.— ,SVe Prtf/e 241 







On the Lake. 


241 


watching Edith’s eloquent face under its shadow 
of falling hair. His heart was in his eyes, and 
she must have read his secret there had she raised 
her eyes ; but she kept them studiously upon the 
mad little eddies made by her hand in the water 
and the dancing glimpse these allowed of the 
bending face. 

They drifted beyond the gaze of those upon 
Ihe hotel piazza, and Allan spoke suddenly, his 
voice very grave : 

“ Of what are you thinking, Edith ?” he asked, 
and he reached out to take in his the hand that 
was trailing along the water. But she laughed 
wickedly, and drew it back. '' You are not angry 
with me, dearest?” he added, hastily, glancing 
swiftly up into the bent face. “ What have I 
done to offend you ?” 

She shrugged her shoulders wilfully, and 
would not answer, her head bent still lower to 
hide the mischievous lips that would smile in 
spite of her silence. 

“ You know that I go away to-morrow, and it 
is but kind for you to part friends with me after 
what you said to me that day — ” 

She interrupted him with a swift movement of 


242 


071 the Lake. 


her hands. She shook the water from the hand 
she had trailed in the lake, and wiped it carefully 
upon her handkerchief as though that were her 
whole object in life. Then she lifted her head, 
and met his eyes steadily. 

“ Where are you going, Mr. Mansfield ?” she 
asked, calmly. He had not told her yet, and she 
would know his errand or they could not part 
friends indeed, as she felt certain, after the mys- 
tery of his delirious ravings. It was but one 
week since he was able to leave his room and 
enter the life of the hotel again, and he had 
regained his strength very slowly. She was 
tempted to relent when she realized how weak 
he was, for he grew pale to the lips at her ques- 
tion, and put his hand to his head, as though it 
were pain to think even of the old trouble. But 
when he answered her it was very calmly, and 
he did not attempt to touch her hand again. 

“ As you know. Miss Hallston,” he said, quietly, 
“ nothing has been heard of Mr. Montgomery 
since he stood with us upon the mountain that 
afternoon, three weeks ago ; and I shall take it 
upon myself to go to his home in Canada and 
learn if there has been heard anything of him 


On the Lake. 


243 


there. If not, I «hall follow up what little clew 
I possess, and not stop till I have either found 
him or discovered where he is.’’ 

She glanced up swiftly from under her lashes, 
but let her eyes drop immediately upon meeting 
his steady gaze. 

“ Then you have some clew?” she asked, aim- 
lessly. She did not know what to say, and this 
came into her mind the first. 

It cannot be called exactly that,” he said, 
smiling ; “ it is not even so much as that word 
implies, but it may lead me to discover his 
whereabouts, if everything else fails.” 

“ It hasn’t anything to do with murderers and 
strange women and the heart of the woods, I 
suppose,” began Edith, with no other object than 
to tease her companion. But the consequence 
of her words was startling. 

Allan started, dropping one of the oars in his 
excitement, his face like death, and a horror in 
his eyes as he glanced across at the girl. His 
oath flashed before him in letters as vivid as fire. 
His hand trembled violently as he leaned over 
the side of the boat, reaching for the oar. He 
could scarcely control his agitation. 


244 


On the Lake. 


“ What do you mean?” Allan asked, as, with a 
powerful effort, he regained his self-command 
and the oar. He raised his hand to his head 
with that pathetic 'motion, that brought the swift 
pity to the eyes of the girl, though she would 
not yet give up her endeavor to make him tell 
her what she desired to know in regard to the 
mystery half revealed by his delirium. How 
do you know anything of what happened that 
night, Edith ? Is it possible,” a deepening of the 
dread on his face, “that I told anything of that 
during my illness? Will you not tell me, if you 
have one atom of love or pity in your heart — ” 
He was growing rather incoherent. 

Edith lifted her head proudly. What was it 
to him whether or not her heart was hard or 
pitiful? Had he ever renewed the subject 
begun under the black heavens on that afternoon 
that came so near ending his life ? She 
shrugged her shoulders with great carelessness 
and raised her eyebrows in mild disdain. 

“ Fm sure I never professed to own such 
incumbrances as either love or pity, Mr. Mans- 
field. And whether I had or not, what is it to 
you? You are going away to-morrow, and will 


On the Lake. 


245 


soon forget such matters in the new excitement 
of your old murderers and strange women whom 
you have known, and the mysterious woods — ” 

“ Forbear!” he cried, in sudden, uncontrolla- 
ble excitement, reaching out his hand toward 
her, as though to silence the rash words. What 
are you saying, Edith ? Do you know — can you 
not realize what you are doing?” Then once 
more, with that stern struggle with his weakness, 
he added, more quietly : 

“ Edith, my dearest, I have not asked you to 
renew the sweet promise you made me that 
afternoon when we were on the mountain. Do 
you wonder at this? You cannot know my rea- 
son for my silence, nor the struggle I have had 
to keep this silence. But it seemed to me the 
only honorable course. There is some terrible 
mystery upon me that I have given my oath 
shall not be revealed for one year. I have 
sworn it, Edith, by all my hope of your love, by 
my love for my mother, by my hope in a here- 
after. And if I should break this oath, there 
shall come upon me not only death, but also the 
death of her whom I hold the dearest thing in 
the world. Do you understand, Edith? Do 


246 


071 the Lake. 


3'Ou know why I can tell you nothing yet? 
That my only hope for the future is to keep 
from you or any one the knowledge of what I 
passed through that endless night of my first 
arrival ? No word of it can pass my lips until 
the year has gone. Even a hint will bring the 
terrible revenge. It seems to have made an old 
man of me, dearest, in these three weeks, more 
than the fever could have done. 

And I could not, I told myself, ask for your 
love — this I said when I was calmer, as I grew 
better — until I could tell you what I passed 
through that first terrible night. I said that I 
could not come to you and ask for ^-our love, 
and keep that secret from you. I must have the 
most perfect faith in my darling and she in me.’' 

He paused from sheer weakness, and his white 
face was very pathetic, appealing to the girl’s 
warm heart. The words of his mother flashed 
back upon her as she sat for a moment in 
silence : 

‘‘ You will be good to him if there is ever 
need, dearest.” 

Had she forgotten that? Had she for one 
moment forgotten the tender pleading of the 


On the Lake. 


247 


mother’s voice ? She leaned forward. They 
were in the shadow of the underbrush growing 
on the edge of the lake, and with her two small 
hands she drew down the hands with which he 
had for a moment covered his agitated face. 
There were tears in her eyes, and a quiver 
around the sweet red mouth that must have 
melted the sternest heart. 

“ My poor Allan !” she said, softly — ah ! very 
softly indeed, as she met with this face the pallid 
face of her companion. “Did you truly think 
Edith Hallston has no heart, no pity? Are you 
not very, very sorry for so slighting her ? Are 
you not to beg her deepest pardon for such sin ? 
Are you not to say that, even if you cannot tell 
her this dreadful mystery — as though a woman 
could not trust the man she loves to that extent ! 
Poor woman indeed she must be, if she cannot! 
Is that all the faith in the sex you have learned 
from your mother — ” 

There was never any conclusion to this very 
pretty speech. Miss Hallston’s hands were 
taken with considerable energy in the hands she 
removed from the man’s face, and the same man, 
with remarkable assurance, changed his seat for 


248 


On the Lake, 


one beside her, setting the oars quivering through 
the water and thick ripples surging out from the 
boat, as though the lake had suddenly gone 
crazy with happiness. Miss Hallston’s face, 
having no sofa cushions handy, was forced to 
hide itself upon Mr. Mansfield’s shoulder, and 
her beautiful hair became dreadfully rumpled, 
with his lips against it in a most familiar 
manner. 

Nevertheless, Miss Hallston made no objection 
to this exchange of resting-places, and took it 
quite coolly, all things considered, as though 
this were, in truth, the better resting-place of 
the two ; and the boat drifted on with reckless 
ripples, with the oars trailing aimlessly in the 
water. 

By and by Miss Hallston remembered that it 
must be time to return to the hotel, as darkness 
was fast settling over the lake, and her compan- 
ion, very unwillingly, it must be confessed, 
resumed his former seat, and took up the oars. 

“You will sing for me this last night upon 
the water, my dearest?” he asked, as he turned 
the boat’s head up the lake. “ It may be a long 
time before I see you again, and I shall remem- 


On the Lake, 


249 


ber your voice in the stillness and with the fra- 
grance of the pines, as though you were somehow 
with me, even in my absence/' 

“ I am afraid my voice isn’t in singing order, 
Allan,” she said, softly, a slight break in the low 
tones. “ But I will do my best for you. 1 shall 
remember, maybe, as well as somebody else, 
that we rowed here in the shadows — ” 

He came near endangering their lives again 
as he leaned over to silence the faltering 
words. 

“ Give me that old, old — oh, dreadfully old 
song of ‘the moon falling over the fountain and 
the day beyond the hills. It is always sweet, 
dearest,” said Allan. 

And Edith, with a new sense of submission, 
lifted her really pretty voice in the serenade to 
Juanita. 

They came out in sight of the piazza as she 
finished the soft old song, and leaning over the 
side of the boat, she trailed her hand as care- 
lessly in the dark waters of the lake as when 
they floated away not long before, in a far differ- 
ent mood. There was a light above the moun- 
tain as though beyond were some mystic fire to 


On the Lake. 


250 

flame the mist into rose, and Edith, looking up 
as though her song were, of a truth, her own 
heart’s voice, said, wistfully : 

What a wonderful moonrise, Allan. I won- 
der if your mystery is as strange as that light 
yonder !” 

He turned his gaze upon the mountain peak 
invisible in its hood of gauze, and an expression 
of awe fell upon his face. The eyes of the girl 
were bright, and as she turned her gaze she saw 
this look upon his face. 

Obeying a sudden impulse, she said, softly : 

That rosy mist is but a fit emblem of the 
mystery set in the very heart of the mountain, 
isn’t it, Allan? Have you forgotten how near 
we both came to seeing beyond all mysteries, 
that day, not long ago ? Whenever I think of 
that hideous serpent, and how soon it would 
have been too late — ” 

He hushed the sadness of her voice with the 
reproachful look from his eyes. It was marvel- 
ous the way she obeyed his slightest look, when 
but one short hour before she had enjoyed noth- 
ing more than tormenting him, by utterly ignor- 
ing any tie of friendship between them. The 


On the Lake. 


251 


boat ran up among the long grasses of the bank 
at that moment, and he shipped his oars, rising 
to catch the anchor line. 

“You are never to think of such horrible 
things, my dearest, any more,” he said, as he 
helped her from the boat. There were too 
many eyes upon them for any warmer expres- 
sion of sentiment, but to her, the tone in which 
these words were uttered told her more than 
innumerable caresses could have done. 

“ And it's very nice to think you’re not sorry 
you saved me,” she said, laughing saucily, as 
they walked up the road to the hotel. “ It’s 
very nice to feel that one belongs to some one 
who can give orders in such a peremptory man- 
ner, Mr. Mansfield.’' 

Then they both laughed like happy children, 
and the night wind bore, perhaps, this sweet sub- 
mission to the rosy mist wrapping the mountain- 
peak in its folds. 

Mrs. Castlemon was one of a group upon the 
piazza, as the two mounted the steps in the 
semi-darkness, where the lights from within 
struggled against that rosy light rising in the 
east, and the dense gloom falling stealthily over 


252 


On the Lake, 


the lake below. She beckoned them to come to 
her, and as Mrs. Mansfield was with her, they 
obeyed. 

“Are you not fatigued, after your severe ill- 
ness, to have rowed so long, Mr. Mansfield?” 
asked Mrs. Castlemon, in her soft voice, that 
somehow always soothed one in its peace and 
tenderness. “We have been fearful of the con- 
sequences, your mother and I, in spite of your 
wonderful progress toward recovery. You 
should be more careful. We do not wish to lose 
your friendship or your companionship from any 
act of carelessness, you know.” 

How altogether charming she could be ! Why 
was it that the thought of Mr. Montgomery 
returned to him keen in looking upon her in her 
beautiful quietness among the shadows? A great 
pity rose in his heart, not for the man who was 
absent, but for this woman, who never betrayed 
whatever of pain or of sorrow — if such could 
come near such a woman — had entered her life. 
Strange, he told himself, how one’s thoughts 
would wander, and how daring they could be ! 

“To know that Mrs. Castlemon misses one is 
enough to make one more careful, indeed I” he 


On the Lake, 


253 


said, smiling, as he seated himself beside her. 
“ Then, too, as I leave in the morning, I would 
not wish to tempt fate again to lay illness upon 
me! You are always so kind to others, Mrs. 
Castlemon ! I wonder if you are never moved 
to our petty sarcasms and spite ! It is restful 
just to be with you.’* He sighed unconsciously. 
The thought of Montgomery was heavy upon 
him. 

I am sorry to know you will leave us so soon 
after your convalescence, Mr. Mansfield,” said 
Mrs. Castlemon, steadily, but in a lower tone. 
Her eyes were not looking at him, but away 
at the flaming mist on the mountain-top. It 
is very brave and generous of you to undertake 
this errand, but do you think it is quite neces- 
sary ? If Mr. Montgomery is alive and wishes 
us to know it, would he not take the trouble 
to let us know? It is scarcely likely that any 
harm should have fallen upon him so near the 
house. I fear you will discover that you have 
been considerably taken in at last.” 

She laughed in an icy, scornful way utterly 
new to her, and her companion turned upon 
her in amazement. 


254 


On the Lake. 


** Do you know anything of him, Mrs. Castle- 
mon ?’* 

Dr. Mainton was coming along the piazza, 
and overheard the last words. Neither of them 
saw him, but he paused involuntarily to catch the 
answer. 

‘‘ / know him. Mr. Mansfield ?*' Every trace 
of her strange emotion had disappeared. Why, 
what could I possibly know of him, indeed, Mr. 
Mansfield ? I have seen him here a few days at 
most. One could not claim as friendship such 
short acquaintance as that.’* 

What was there in the woman’s life that linked 
her in any way to Mr. Montgomery ? Dr. Main- 
ton was asking himself, as he stood silent a mo- 
ment. Deland had told him what he knew of 
their acquaintance, and the hints he had thrown 
out were strangely full of possibilities. Dr. 
Mainton himself was too much interested in Mrs. 
Castlemon to take coolly any possible hindrance 
in the way oi their more than friendship. For 
Dr. Maii^ton was daring, too, in his dreams. 
Then he crossed the few steps between them, and 
laid his hand on the back of Mrs. Castlemon’s 
chair. An authoritative way it was, and Allan 


On the Lake. 


255 


looked up somewhat surprised, although he was 
too thoroughly a gentleman to betray such emo- 
tion. 

“ Have you noticed the remarkable appearance 
of the mist on the mountain?” the doctor asked, 
calmly, as though he had been standing there for 
all his life, it might be. “ Looking at it through 
the telescope, it is very singular. Would you 
like to look at it in that light, Mrs. Castlemon ?” 

She looked up at him with a winning smile, 

‘‘You are very good, doctor. Have you a tel- 
escope ? The mist is beautiful viewed with the 
naked eye ; how much more so must it be through 
a glass. Will you bring it here, or did you wish 
us to go within — ” 

“ I will bring it to you,” he interrupted, not 
hastily, but as though to convince her that it was 
herself he would please, not the group upon the 
piazza. With a woman’s instinct she knew this 
very well. With a woman’s instinct, too, she 
knew how to meet it. 

“You are so kind, doctor! Edith, my dear, 
we are to have a treat. You are fond of mys- 
teries, and Dr. Mainton has generously offered 
to let us view that mist yonder through bia glass. 


256 


On the Lake. 


Mysteries are so interesting, you know, Mrs. 
Mansfield 

Edith clapped her hands softly, her animated 
face turned toward them in the half-darkness. 
Mrs. Mansfield, pleased with whatever pleased 
the girl, echoed her soft applause. 

“ Dr. Mainton is always generous,” she said, in 
her sweet old way. 

“ It is no generosity,” said the doctor. I 
am sure it is merely a great pleasure, Mrs. Mans- 
field. You shall have the glass at once, if you 
will pardon my absence for one moment.” 

He is such a good fellow!” said Allan, as the 
doctor disappeared into the hotel. 

‘‘ Indeed he is!” corroborated Edith, with con- 
siderably more enthusiasm than was at all neces- 
sary for the mere act of granting this pleasure to 
the ladies. Then she blushed bewitchingly, and 
was deeply interested in watching the distant 
mists, without the aid of a glass. 

Allan’s face was eloquent as he glanced over 
at her, and Mrs. Castlemon smiled quietly as she 
saw the look. 

Mr. Deland came out with the doctor after a 
moment or so, and the group was very merry, 


On the Lake. 


257 


watching the mystery developing on the moun- 
tain-top. Miss Camden, who was with Deland 
at the time of that fatal runaway in Canada, 
presently joined them, until their group seemed 
the centre of interest, and one by one most of 
the other guests had crowded about them. The 
doctor’s telescope was in demand from one 
pretty pair of hands to another, and many pairs 
of bright eyes were leveled at the distant mist, 
where the moon was setting her colors in equi- 
site blending. It was so necessary, too, for 
stronger hands than theirs to set the focus, and 
gave such a charming opportunity for soft 
words in delicate ears tipped just the slightest 
degree, while white hands clasped the instru- 
ment ! 

“ It is one of the prettiest things I ever saw!” 
said Miss Camden, as she passed the glass to 
another charming young lady. 

“ It is indeed !” said Mr. Deland, but unfortu- 
nately he was looking at her instead of the scene 
upon the mountain. 

It is more than merely pretty,” said Edith, in 
a low tone, to Allan, who was now beside her, 
leaning over her chair. “ I never saw anything 


On the Lake, ^ 


^258 

so full of possibilities in my life ; did you, Allan? 
What couldn’t an artist do with such delicate 
work !” 

“ Some artists might spoil it — the generality, I 
think, too — others might get a touch of the 
beauty, but very few could have the power to 
faithfully reproduce it !” answered Allan, with 
his hand just touching her shoulder as it rested 
upon the chair. I shall remember it, though — 
the whole scene — without the aid of any artist, 
Edith. I wish you could change your plans and 
run up to Canada, too. I cannot bear to leave 
you. You do not know what an absurdly super- 
stitious fellow I have grown in the last hour. 
Couldn’t you possibly get Mrs. Castlemon to 
go ?” 

Edith laughed, shaking her pretty head, but 
with more gentleness in her denial than she 
usually granted such. 

“ No,” she said, gently. “ It would not do at 
all, Allan, my dear*! In the first place, every 
one would know we were going because you — ” 

“Well,” interrupted this new sovereign, 
calmly. “ What if they do, Edith ?” 

“ Why, it wouldn’t do at all, as I have just said, 


On the Lake. 


259 


Allan! We took the rooms for the season, and 
unless something altogether new comes up, wc 
are likely to remain here till September, any way. 
But,” there was a tender relenting in her voice, 
and he leaned lower to catch the soft words, “ if 
you are not back here by then, we may — remem- 
ber, I only say, we may — run over to Canada 
before going down home. It would be a charm- 
ing little trip before taking up the stifling city, 
and would give us the opportunity of discovering 
what you have done in the way of finding out 
about poor Mr. Montgomery.” 

“ If I thought it would take me urltil then to 
find him,” Allan said, slowly, as though keep- 
ing down some great mental struggle, “ it seems 
to me I should go insane. You cannot know 
what it is I fear, Edith. I am absurd, no doubt, ^ 
but the feeling holds me, and I cannot shake it 
off. It is most likely that I will run over Mont- 
gomery before I have been out two days, in 
which case I shall at once pack up and return 
to the present state of my existence. I presume 
there will be a welcome for me from somebody 
not a thousand miles away — ” 

“ I suppose it would not do to refuse when such 


26 o 


On the Lake. 


a return is still doubtful,” answered Edith, with 
a soft laugh. “ What will I do without either 
you or Mr, Montgomery to bring into some 
dreadful mishap. I have done nothing to distin- 
guish myself for these three weeks, Allan !” 

“ Except,” the moon had risen above the moun- 
tain peak, and the group was dispersing in twos 
and threes, “except proving that you are a 
naughty little gossiper, and anxious to discover 
what you imagined was somebody who had cut 
you out — ” 

“ Oh, indeed, no !” she was very hasty in repl}"- 
ing. “You need not flatter yourself to that 
extent, Allan Mansfield ! Even if you are going 
away in the strangest chase I ever heard of, and 
your return is so doubtful, I shall not acknowl- 
edge that ! I did not think that indeed, indeed, 
but that there may have come to you some 
harm — ” 

“ You are not to deny that !” he said, swiftly. 
“ I had as lief let it go at that. I shall be more 
certain that you love me, Edith.” 

They were silent for a long time after that. 
Dr. Mainton and Mrs. Castlemon were talking 
quietly, a little apart from the rest, and Mrs. 


Ofi the Lake, 


26 r 

Mansfield was talking with one of the older 
ladies who had been drawn with the others by 
the beauty of the scene. Miss Camden and Mr. 
Deland were sitting on the steps in calm uncon- 
cern as to the dignity of their seat. She had her 
guitar, and was striking the strings softly now 
and then as an accompaniment to their low con- 
versation. Every one seemed thoroughly satis- 
fied with himself or herself. The evening was 
very still and beautiful. 

It is a pleasant memory to take with me,” said 
x\llan, by and by, as they were parting for the 
night at the foot of the staircase. 

“ And I hope your mystery will clear away as 
perfectly as the mist broke apart before the 
moon, on the mountain yonder. Can I wish you 
better, Allan ?” Her eyes were wonderfully shy 
and sweet, lifted to his with the new light upon 
them. 

Her hands were very warm in his, as he 
smiled an answer upon her. He could carry the 
memory of this face forever in his heart without 
ever seeing it again. The thought startled him. 
Why should he never see it again? And, al- 
though it was indeed a sweet memory to go with 


262 


On the Lake. 


him, he should hope soon, and very soon at that, 
. to return again to the original. 

“To know that you have such perfect faith in 
me, without so much as a word of explanation, 
is very sweet to me, Edith,” he said. “ It proves 
beyond the shadow of a doubt how much you 
truly love me.” 

“ They say such mean things about us women 
being so curious, you see, Allan,” she said, wick- 
edly, but with a sweetness, too, “ that you are 
ready to believe Ave would spoil the life of our 
very dearest to gratify that mean characteristic. 
Of course, it’s nice to have mysteries cleared up, 
and you are to clear this up for me before long ; 
but if I should never know really what it is, I 
am satisfied so long as it brings no harm to 
you.” 

“ And never shall it bring harm to the one 
who is the dearest in the world to me !” he said, 
vehemently, as he turned away. 

She smiled to herself all the way up to her 
room, and ran in, quite breathless with happi- 
ness, to where Mrs. Castlemon was waiting 
for her. 

“You needn’t say one word, my dearest,” said 


On the Lake, 


263 


this incorrigible woman, clasping the girl’s out- 
stretched hands. “ As though I couldn’t see the 
happiness in your face without a single word ! 
I am very, very glad for you, Edith ! If there 
is a man in the world worthy of you, it is he !” 

There were tears in the earnest eyes of the 
girl as she touched softly the warm red mouth 
of her friend. 

“ You are always so good to every one !” she 
whispered. 

But Allan, when he left Edith, had not gone to 
his room. He found Deland and Dr. Mainton, 
and they went up to the latter’s room for a 
sociable smoke ere retiring. Allan was deter- 
mined to learn what it was that had betrayed 
his secret to Edith, and it was only through 
these friends he could do so without breaking 
his oath. Even then it might lead to dangerous 
ground, but he would be on his guard, and not 
let the conversation go too far. In any case, he 
must know just where he stood, and if there was 
any likelihood of his having let the secret out 
during those days of delirium. 

When they told him to even the smallest item 
— for so he insisted — of what had passed his lips 


264 


On the Lake, 


during his illness, he drew a deep breath of 
gratitude for having said so little. Then he 
smoked on in silence fora few minutes. Neither 
of his companions would ask of him a solution of 
the mystery, but it was plain they expected 
some such thing. What, then, was their disap- 
pointment when he said, removing the cigar 
from between his lips and knocking the ashes 
off : ' 

“ If you are truly friends of mine, old fellows, 
you’ll give me your hands on never breathing 
this to a living soul until twelv^e months have 
passed. At the end of that time, I will tell you 
as much as I can about this mystery. I would 
tell you now, for you have been good friends 
in truth to me, but I cannot. The telling would 
endanger not my life alone, but one dearer to 
me than any other! You understand ?” 

They nodded gravely, but as utterly, if not 
more, mystified than before ; and by and by 
they separated, too, and the house was silent in 
night. 


Mr, Mont((omery at Home. 265 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MR. MONTGOMERY AT HOME. 

Allan, who knew as much of Mr. Montgom- 
ery’s home ayid habits as those at the hotel could 
tell him, started off the day following the under- 
standing between himself and Edith. He went 
directly to Montgomery’s home, just oiTthe out- 
skirts of Montreal, to learn there if he had 
returned. Not that he had much faith in his 
having done so, but that whether or not he 
should find him would confirm him in his fears 
as to the harm fallen upon Eim through the same 
source as that with which he was met on his 
arrival in the mountains. 

Therefore, he was not surprised when he was 
informed at his home that Mr. Montgomery had 
indeed not returned, but had sent — and this did 
surprise him — a message to the effect that he 
would be at home the following da}^ This was 
welcome news to Allan, though he could not 
come to any satisfactory explanation as to 


266 Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


the silence following his mysterious disappear- 
ance. 

It’s as strange as others doubtless think my 
silence about that night !” said Allan, to himself, 
as he returned to the hotel in the city, where he 
had engaged a room before starting out to look 
after his friend. “ But it is welcome news 
indeed. My fears are so provec^ groundless. 
Undoubtedly, my unfortunate adventure was 
due to the lateness of the hour and my travel- 
ing alone. It is scarcely probable that the 
same thing would occur in the daytime or if one 
were accompanied. It was just because things 
happened to be as they were. But I wish to 
Heaven,” he added, with sudden vehemence, 

that it had not h^pened ! There is some- 
thing horrible in the thought that I hold it 
in my power to, perhaps, prevent other such 
crimes, and am helpless because I am bound by 
this oath into silence ! This return of Mont- 
gomery, though, makes it all right for my 
return to the lake and to Edith. Dear girl! 
How trustful she is, if she gives way to her feel- 
ings!” 

On the next day, Allan again presented him- 


Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


267 


self at the residence of Mr. Montgomery. This 
was a beautiful estate with large grounds ; trees, 
almost as many and huge as those through 
which Allan made that memorable ride, and a 
rambling old gray stone-house, with gables and 
turrets, and wide balconies where the lights 
made soft play with the shadows. The mere 
keeping up of such an estate would demand a 
small fortune ; therefore, Allan told himself as 
he rode up the drive, this man must, indeed, 
have even greater wealth than he had dreamed 
of his possessing. 

“ I have always considered myself pretty solid 
as to the ground under my feet,” said Allan, 
laughing, as he gazed over the stretch of lawn 
with the wooded land beyond ; “ but after this I 
shall have to take a back seat ! You’re a lucky 
fellow, Arthur Montgomery, of Canada, and I 
wonder that no woman has been found to share 
your good fortune !” 

Mr. Montgomery had arrived, yes, in the early 
morning, but was intensely fatigued, and would 
not be down for an hour, the man said at the 
door. 

“ But if you will take up my card I think he 


268 Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


will see me at once,” said Allan, considerably 
put out at this delay. 

The man lifted his eyebrows, and took the 
card, drawing aside the curtains in a doorway 
leading to a dainty ante-room. 

“ If the gentleman will wait, 1 will see,” he 
said. 

Allan looked about him as he waited. He had 
a great curiosity about the man since their sud- 
den meeting and parting, and it would be a 
strange domain, he said, carelessly, for a coward’s 
home — this exquisite old place ! The room into 
which he was shown was small, but so charmingly 
decorated and arranged that it must be the home 
of a woman. Whether this man’s mother or sis- 
ter, it bore the unmistakable marks of a woman’s 
presence. No bachelor house could betray such 
exquisite little touches as were upon everything. 

When the man returned, he was a shade more 
obsequious, and held aside the curtain for Allan 
to pass through as he announced, in his slow, soft 
voice, that Mr. Montgomery would see the gen- 
tleman in his room. 

Montgomery had not gotten out of bed yet as 
Allan entered, but he welcomed him with both 


Mr, Montgomery at Home. 269 

hands, and motioned him to a chair beside the 
bed. 

“ I’m a lazy fellow !” he said, gayly. There 
was a new and strange expression on his face. 
His usually frank blue eyes could not rest for 
long upon the brown eyes of his visitor. “ I’ve 
had such a pull for it getting here that I made up 
my mind on the way that I would stay in bed for 
the remainder of my* life! How are you, Mr. 
Mansfield ? You are not looking as well as when 
I saw you last — ” He ended the sentence in an 
awkward pause, a flush coming to his face. Then 
he added, lightly ; “ I trust you have not been 
ill, Mr. Mansfield?” 

Allan did not at once reply. He was ponder- 
ing in his mind what course he should pursue to 
solve the mystery attending the other’s departure 
from the hotel. Then, with a laugh that was 
half embarrassed, half good comradeship, he said, 
leaning forward, with steady eyes upon his host : 

“ Look here, Montgomery, you will pardon me 
if I am breaking any rule of politeness, but it is 
deuced queer why you went off as you did ! 
Don’t you know, man, that it set the hotel by the 
ears, and kept the guides busy hunting for you 


270 Mr. Mo 7 ttgomery at Home. 


over the mountain, besides the anxiety of your 
friends — ” 

Mr. Montgomery stretched out his hand and 
silenced him. There was a strange pallor on his 
face and a flickering light in his eyes. But his 
gaze now was as steady as Allan’s. 

“ Hold on, Mansfield,” he said, a slight hesita- 
tion in his voice. “ Don’t judge a fellow harshly 
till you know of what you judge ! I am of the 
opinion that you have been through pretty much 
the same scrape as I, and you can, therefore, have 
more sympathy. Give me a moment’s breathing 
space, and you shall hear. It is one of the most 
marvelous things 1 ever read or heard of ! Robin 
Hood of the old adventurous stories is as nothing 
beside this that has occurred in our enlightened 
age.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave the 
pillow under his head an energetic thump, as 
though to free himself of some smothered wrath. 

“I see by your looks,” he added, presently, ^ 
his eyes once more keenly searching his listener’s 
face, “ that what I have only surmised during 
the past few weeks is true about yourself. I am 
not specially curious. When you said you 
arrived at the hotel in the early morning and 


Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


271 


would give no account of yourself, I thought 
that your own business ; but there was some- 
thing in your face that I could not comprehend 
— something as though you were afraid to speak ; 
and yet I knew by hearsay, and judged from 
your appearance when I saw you, that you were 
no coward. You will pardon my speaking so 
frankly. Before I have done you will under- 
stand why 1 do so. I have good reason for^all 
that I have said and will say. 

“To go back to the afternoon we went up the 
mountain to search for Miss Hallston. I had 
received a considerable shock in regard to some 
personal matter, and was not in a specially good 
humor that day. It was a shock so severe that I 
would have gone away from the hotel then and 
there but for the reason that I would not show 
that I cared. I cannot explain this more fully at 
present. Perhaps before I have done and we 
part company, I shall be able to tell you more 
fully about what I mean. Just now I have 
something of more importance than personal 
matters to speak about.” 

Allan’s face betrayed his excitement. He felt 
instinctively what was coming, and leaned for- 


272 


Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


ward quite motionless, his eyes upon Mont- 
gomery. 

“ As I said,” continued Mr. Montgomery, and 
he made himself more comfortable upon the pil- 
lows, more as though he were excited than as 
though he particularly cared for his comfort, 
“ that day on the mountain when you started 
down the path with Miss Hallston, I stood for a 
nflnute watching you, and some foolish old mem- 
ory came back to me, and I could not bring my- 
self to follow at once. When I did start to fol- 
low you — I had half made up my mind never to 
go back to the hotel anyway — the rain was com- 
ing down like all possessed, and I pulled up the 
collar of my coat and was just making a dive 
down the path, when, through the rain and the 
gathering darkness, a couple of men sprang 
upon me, choked me, and would have tied me, 
but decided between them that by so doing they 
would render me helpless, and as the woods 
were so heavy, they could not well manage to 
get me along. They had revolvers, and laughed 
dmong themselves to think that they were bet- 
ter than ropes or gags, and got off some jokes to 


Mr, Montgomery at Home. 


273 


that effect, which I failed to appreciate under 
the circumstances. 

“ Of course, it was a most daring thing to do, 
but the gathering darkness and the storm were 
with them, and I might as well have been in the 
heart of a desert as within those few feet of you. 
They were masked and looked like pretty old 
customers, and I had little hope of getting out 
of their clutches without a scratch for it. 

“ They were rather reckless, it seemed to me, 
in the way they talked to each other. They 
cracked jokes about my condition, and about 
the fine show I would make when they had done 
with me. They talked mysteriously of some 
other whom they would riddle pretty well some 
day in spite of the woman. They laughed 
coarsely when they said these things, and were 
like the vigilants in their watch over me. I 
couldn’t hav.e ventured to move unnecessarily 
without a bullet through me, as I very well 
knew. As to the storm, they minded that not at 
all. They were bent on mischief, and seemed to 
think of nothing else. 

‘‘ I couldn’t help thinking, and I must confess 
that it gave me a sort of grim satisfaction, that 


2 74 Mr. Mo7itgo77tery at Home. 


now it was needless for me to plan for not 
returning to the hotel, as I was in no danger of 
doing that very soon. I was not at all deceived 
as to my position, for I knew very well that 
such men would not undergo the penalty of 
imprisonment for the mere fun of capturing me. 
I even went so far as to consider whether it 
would not end in the loss of my life. But I 
wasn’t particularly fascinated with my life, and 
that gave me, truly, little-concern. Don’t think 
I am bragging, Mansfield,” he added, earnestly, 
a flush slowly creeping to his face. “ I know 
some have given me the character of coward, 
but I can, I think, honestly say that I am not 
one. Not that it was any show of bravery to 
say that I did not much care if the adventure 
should end in death, for I was desperate with 
my life, and held it too lightly to care for conse- 
quences. Perhaps if it had been a happier life I 
might have shown some trace of the cowardice 
of which I am accused.” 

“ None of your friends believe such a thing of 
you, I am sure,” Allan said, kindly, for he was 
strangely attracted toward the man. “ I know 


Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


275 


that Miss Hallston holds you in great esteem, 
Montgomery.” 

Mr. Montgomery smiled coldly. A slight 
sneer touched his lips. He was not the frank 
fellow of a moment before. 

“ Miss Hallston is good to every one,” he said, 
quietly. “ She could have no hard thoughts for 
any one. But, as to that, I do not hang upon 
the verdict of any woman. I judge myself by 
my own conscience, and my code of honor. 
You’re a brave fellow, Mansfield. I am not flat- 
tering you. I like you and trust you, or you 
would not now hear this story of mine. It’s a 
deuced strange story, and may strike a chord in 
your own heart. I rather believe it will, or I 
might not even now tell you. As you know 
about the storm, there is no reason for my going 
over that. The darkness was rather alarming to 
me. I preferred to know where I was being 
taken. Of course, that would be difficult of cer- 
tain knowledge, under the circumstances, for 
the wood is so wild and so tangled one would 
scarcely be able to swear by the path at the best 
of times. 

Anyway, we went through this darkness as 


276 Mr. Montgomery at Home. 


though there was not one inch of ground that 
the men did not thoroughly know, and I walked 
between them in an undivided state of mind, 
bordering on the ridiculous. I never made the 
slightest movement of escape, for I knew that 
would only end in immediate death, and when 
Death came so close I conceived the plan of 
outwitting him ! I am a sort of a dare-devil any 
way, Mansfield, so unlike me as doubtless you 
think it !” he said, smiling. “ But I kept my 
eyes about me, and my wits, as well as I could. 

After a little, we came in sight of you and 
Miss Hallston. Don’t look surprised, Mansfield. 
I know what I tell you will come in Avith what 
you already know or I would not tell j^ou. You 
never guessed that I was so near, nor the strange 
manner of my approach to you ! I could not at 
first make out what my guides meant by their 
queer movements then. The man ahead turned 
around to his companion and nodded sev- 
eral times, in a grim, satisfied sort of way, as 
though it were the fulfilling of an object. Why 
that thought should have come to me as it did, 
in a flash, I could not know. But I watched 
them with considerably more interest. I saw 


Mr, Montgomery at Home, 


277 


you and Miss Hallston hurrying along, and, of 
course, heard you shout for me, but I was, 
at the time, not in a condition to reply He 
laughed with- grim mirth, and reached out to lay 
his hand over one of Allan’s, on the arm of 
his chair, his face growing instantly grave. 

“ Look here, old fellow,” he said, earnestly, “ I 
hold no ill-will toward you. I would have saved 
you if I could. I did try as it was, and came 
near getting their revenge ! But when you were 
shot, did you think for an instant whose hand . 
held the weapon? When the thing was done, it 
was like a flash. I never guessed they were on 
your track till that instant, when the leader sud- 
denly aimed and fired. I could have killed him 
had I not knowm my death would instantly fol- 
low. I had them in my power if ever I should 
escape, I told myself, trying to argue away my 
failure to save you. But I managed to trip the 
fellow, I hardly know how, at the instant of the 
report, and the ball went a trifle astray. You 
didn’t think that Montgomery was so near the 
revolver ! And you don’t know ” — his hand was 
warm and steady over Allan’s hand — “ how it 
hurt me to see you hurt. But you were not 


278 Mr, Montgomery at Home. 


dead ; I had that consolation. And after that 
incident — the men argued with each other as to 
the probability of the wound’s causing your 
death, anyway — we went on in another direction, 
they fearing, I suppose, that some one ma}^ have 
heard the shot, and would follow it up. 

“ They laughed — those friends — when we were 
some distance away from you, to think, they 
said, that they were even with the man in spite 
of the woman’s chicken heart. What had they 
to do with old memories or old women ? Their 
memory held on only when there was revenge 
to be had. Some way, all this came to me with 
the recollection of your late arrival at the hotel 
that morning, and the expression of your face 
when the subject was mentioned. But the men 
• gave me no clew save that, and we went on 
through the woods in a ghastly sort of file, I 
think. And they went so slowly and by such a 
circuitous route that it was quite dark when at 
last we came out upon the lake — ” 

Allan leaned forward, interrupting him, grasp- 
ing his hand excitedly. 

“And there was a struggle, and shots were 


Mr. Montgomery at Home. 279 

fired, and some one was wounded !” he cried, his 
eyes flashing. 

“ Yes.” Mr. Montgomery was equally excited. 

How did you know of it, Mansfield ? Why did 
no one try to discover what the row was ? There 
would have been no mystery then. But I scarcely 
think it would have pleased me, either,” he con- 
cluded, slowly. And silence fell upon them for 
a moment. 

“Mrs. Castlemon and Miss Hallston heard the 
shots,” Allan explained, gravely, for he had heard 
the story. “ And Mrs. Castlemon told Deland, 
and had him search. They saw those marks, but 
could make nothing of it, and decided that it was 
absurd, and that the shots were fired by some 
returning party from the mountain.” 

“ The ladies were very thoughtful,” said Mr. 
Montgomery, icily. That strange sneering ex- 
pression crept again around his lips. Then he 
shrugged his shoulders, and continued his strange 
story, which now became more intensely inter- 
esting than ever to Allan. 


28o Why Montgomery Disappeared, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

WHY MONTGOMERY DISAPPEARED. 

“ When we got down to the lake,” said Mont- 
gomery, in continuation of his strange story, “ I 
made up my mind it would be as good a time as 
any for an attempt to escape. So I kept very 
still, and the men walked so close to me I could 
scarcely step. But presently the man ahead of 
me stumbled and fell aside for one instant, and, 
although he recovered himself as quickly, with 
an oath, yet I had not lost that one small space 
of time. I think I made no noise. I know I 
heard my own heart beat for a moment thunder- 
ingly. Then I had sunk out of sight at the side 
of the carry in the lake. It was a cold bath, but 
I took it in desperation, and without, I am cer- 
taiUj making a sound to betray m)^self. It was 
the one place they would not think of searching 
for me ; and I escaped. They fired ahead and 
behind, but as I was in neither direction, they had 
finally to go off considerably less exultant than 


* Why Montgomery Disappeared. 281 


when they first came, cursing me and each other, 
and the luck that had tripped them. 

“ What their game was perhaps you know 
better than I do, Mansfield ; but I had no doubt 
it was to get money, and might, perhaps, end in 
murder. As to the blood marks, I cannot account 
for them, unless the man behind shot the man 
ahead by mistake. I was not wounded. But I 
was considerably shaken up ; and when at last I 
dared venture out of the water, I made a mad 
dash for the road. I had decided not to return 
to the hotel for various reasons, and to let them 
think that I had been lost, and was in all proba- 
bility dead. That was not kind, you say? My 
dear fellow, you cannot judge for me in that 
until you know my reason. 

“ As to how I escaped finally — I ran along the 
road through the darkness — and the darkness 
was intense — till I came to one of the small 
houses away out toward the lonelier part of the 
road. Here I stopped and told my story. The 
people were poor. I had money enough about 
me to reward them pretty well, and this I did, 
with the solemn promise that they would not 
betray that I had been saved, no matter how 


282 Why Montgomery Disappeared. ' 


they were tempted to do so. They have kept 
their promise, I see. They shall not lose by it. 

‘‘ Of course, I could not at once start for home, 
because I had not money enough in the first 
place, and because I wished to let the excite- 
ment die out a little before I attempted to leave 
the house. Then one night I was bundled into 
a wagon and was driven to Au Sable Forks, to 
get from there by horseback to the nearest rail- 
way station that would not betray me. As to 
that, though, I scarcely think my dearest friend 
would have recognized me in the slouchy, 
country fellow who boarded the train. At 
Plattsburgh, I telegraphed on for money, and it 
was sent me as speedily as wires could carry 
messages. There I refitted myself, and started 
for home yesterday, more like a civilized person 
than I had been in three weeks. You see me 
here. 

“ Now, what I am coming to, is this, my -dear 
fellow. If you will not answer me, or if you 
cannot — I shall know you have good reason for 
whichever you adopt — I shall decide for myself 
as to the truth of my suspicion. The cause of 
your delay in reaching the hotel the night of 


Why Montgomery Disappeared, 283 


your arrival at the lake was due to some such 
adventure as mine. I have put two and two 
together — it is very simple — and have come to 
the conclusion that these very men captured 
you on the road, and maybe got you somewhere 
in the woods where they would have either 
robbed or murdered you, but for the timely 
interference of some woman. Don’t think me at 
all penetrating, Mansfield, nor that I would 
ferret out any secret you may wish to keep ; but 
that you escaped them in some way, and they 
attempted revenge upon you for this, by their 
effort to take your life on the mountain, I am 
certain. I have had experience with daring rob- 
bers pretty near home, but I never came so near 
the end of my journey as I did that one day. 
Will you tell me if I have rightly guessed of this, 
Mansfield, or can you not ? I shall take either 
as you would wish me to, in the best belief of 
your own cause for silence or confession.” 

Allan did not at once reply. He had with- 
drawn his hand from Montgomery’s, and had 
buried his face in it, his elbow upon the arm of 
his chair. Mr. Montgomery watched him in 
silence. He felt that he was passing through 


284 Why Montgomery Disappeared. 


some severe struggle, and would not interfere 
with his thoughts. After a few moments, Allan 
lifted his head and met the kind eyes of his 
friend fixed upon him. 

“ Montgomery,” he said, with a hoarse sound 
in his voice, his hand trembling somewhat as 
he reached it out toward the other’s extended 
hand, “ believe me, I would tell you of that 
night, if I could. I cannot ! I am under oath 
not to reveal one word of what I heard and 
saw and went through that night, till twelve 
months have passed. When they are over, I 
shall explain to those friends who are kindly 
interested and know already of something mys- 
terious connected with my strange arrival. 
Until then, I must remain silent, with the threat 
of men who would not hesitate to go any length 
to keep their vengeance, that at one word of 
betrayal from me, not only will I be put to 
death, but so will the one whom I hold dearest 
in life ! You may know who that one is! You 
have known Miss Hallston, and can judge what 
my thought of her is ! She has given me the 
sweetest of promises, and it is for her I fear infi- 
nitely more — believe me — than for myself.” 


Why Montgomery Disappeared. 285 


Mr. Montgomery’s hand-clasp was very warm 
and true as he said, gravely : 

‘‘ I don’t know why it is, Mansfield, that I 
should have so taken to you from the first 
moment of our meeting, but 1 feel’as though we 
were old friends ! As such, I hold your oath as 
sacred as you could do. I believe in you fully. 
Perhaps I have my own thoughts as to the 
adventure, but I have made up my mind to one 
thing. I had intended putting as vigilant a set 
of detectives on the track of those men as there 
is to be found, but now that I have heard what 
you have to say, I shall do nothing until those 
months have passed. Should I do it, it might 
fall upon you and your fiancee to receive their 
revenge! You can trust me with your life or 
her life for as long as my own shall last 1 I 
would not harm one hair of your heads ! Miss 
Hallston is a beautiful woman, and could ask for 
no truer man upon whom to place her affection 
than yourself ! I offer my heartiest congratula- 
tions.’’ 

“ And you should profit by my example,” said 
Allan, as he shook hands warmly with his 
friend. “ There are other women very beauti- 


286 Why Montgomery Disappeared. 


ful and gracious and worth winning, Montgom- 
ery. Could you find one more charming than 
Miss Hallston’s friend — ” 

“ Than whom ?” almost thundered Mr. Mont- 
gomery, dropping the hand he held, and start- 
ing back from him, a black look coming over 
his face. “ Whom are you talking about, Mans- 
field ?” 

Allan was appalled. He had heard none of 
the rumors regarding this man and the beautiful 
woman so closely connected with the thought of 
Edith. He whitened and flushed, and was 
utterly discomfited for a moment. Then Mr. 
Montgomery regained his old manner, and 
laughed, rather awkwardly, it must be confessed, 
but with an effort at lightness. 

“ I am not a marrying man, Mansfield,” he 
said, shrugging his broad shoulders. “ The 
ladies are delightful for an hour’s amusement, 
but I prefer, for life, the free bachelorhood 
I am now enjoying. It may sound treasonable 
to you at this time, but I know of what I 
speak.” 

“ You can surely not know of whom I spoke, 
Montgomery,” Allan said, rather sternly, indig- 


Why Montgomery Disappeared. 287 


nation flushing his face. “No one, certainly not 
even such an inveterate bachelor as yourself, 
could have other than the deepest respect and 
admiration for Miss Hallston’s friend, Mrs. Cas- 
tlemon.” 

The black look was again touching Mr. Mont- 
gomery’s face, but he mastered it, and answered, 
still lightly : 

“ Mrs. Castlemon is a most adorable woman — 
most adorable of the sex, my dear fellow ! As 
you just now ' remarked, no one could think 
otherwise. But bachelorhood for me ! 

“ ‘ Bachelor’s Hall, what a comical place it is !’ 

the old song says. I agree with them there. I 
shall hold to it, too, I think, all my life. One is 
not likely to change one’s nature at five-and- 
thirty, Mansfield.” 

“ One might do worse than that,” said Allan, 
in sturdy defence of Edith’s friend. “ Lots of 
men have done it, you know.” 

“ Have changed their natures after five-and- 
thirty, you mean ?” asked his host, gayly, turn- 
ing his eyes, with an arch expression in them, 
upon Allan’s half angry face. “ So they have. 


288 Why Montgomery Disappeared. 


my dear fellow, but mostly, if you are a student 
of human nature, to their sorrow. They’re more 
likely to be taken in at last, you see !” 

“ I know nothing of the sort,” still persisted 
Allan, not at all comprehending this man, who 
had been called a coward and a hero in one 
breath. 

“We’ll not argue upon that point, Mansfield. 
I’m afraid you cannot change my views at pres- 
ent, and we’re too good friends to split oh such 
a rock. You’re to make yourself at home. It 
is a surprise to see you here, but none the less 
delightful. I will have you shown to a room, 
and will then make myself presentable to show 
you the glories of my bachelor’s hall. I think 
you will like the place. Every one who comes 
here goes away enchanted only to come again — 
as I sincerely hope will be the case with you. 
Oh, but you’re not to mention such a thing as a 
hotel !” He caught Allan up sharply when he 
Avould have spoken. “No friend of mine — and 
such a good friend — shall ever say he remained at 
a hotel in a strange city while I have a house to 
offer him room ! My dear fellow, we will have 
a pleasant time, I promise you. I am an adopted 


Why Montgomery Disappeared. 289 


native of Montreal, and can show you consider- 
ably more than you might otherwise see for a 
year. And I will promise you some sport and 
any number of beautiful ladies !” He laughed 
and reached out for the bell-rope. “You shall 
not say one word, I tell you, Mansfield ! Every 
one obeys me — excepting the robbers of your 
mountains !” And, still laughing, he gave his 
order to the servant who answered his sum- 
mons. 

“ I have been lazy long enough. You have 
given me new life,” he said to Allan, as he was 
leaving the room with the servant. “ I shall be 
with you before you have fully rested, Mansfield. 
It is almost the dinner hour, too. Hasn’t the 
change of atmosphere given you an appetite? I 
never fail in that.” 

And, in truth, almost before Allan had become 
acquainted with the room assigned him — a large, 
airy, luxuriant room it was— Mr. Montgomery 
tapped at the door and entered. 

“ The more I think of it, the better it seems to 
have you with me,” he said, genially. “ I am 
more pleased than I can say, Mansfield. You 
shall have a glimpse of our Canadian hospitality 


290 Why Montgomery Disappeared. 


before I have done with you. Maybe I was an 
American and a Yankee at one time in my life, 
but I think I am as much of a native here as any 
among them. It is a very good place to stay in 
a part of the year, anyhow, as you shall acknowl- 
edge.” 

If all are as hospitable as yourself, I shall have 
none but the best reports to make when I get 
back,” Allan said, earnestly. But I can stay 
only a day or so with you, Montgomery. I 
promised to return as soon as it was certain where 
you were. I cannot break my promise, you 
know.’ 

Mr. Montgomery interrupted his smiling ex- 
planation. 

“ Nonsense, Mansfield. You are here, and shall 
stay until I allow you to go. Why not have out 
a gay party for a month or so ? I shall be 
delighted, and it will save the great call for your 
return. I cannot lose my friend, now I have 
found him.” 

What shall I say ?” returned Allan, laughing. 
“I am in the robber’s castle now, and must 
submit, I suppose. Will you have out any one I 
know ?” 


At the Masquerade. 


291 


“ Of course I shall have out some of our friends 
at the old hotel,” he said, in great amusement. 
Then his face suddenly hardened. Even Mrs. 
Castlemon !” he added, grimly, as though between 
his teeth. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AT THE MASQUERADE. 

The summer had passed. Midwinter had 
come. It was the height of the season in New 
York. Edith Hallston and her friend were as 
usual the centre of their acquaintances. They 
were full of life, and had one of the most brilliant 
houses in the city. There was never a dull 
moment for any one in their group of guests. 
Both these beautiful women were the best of 
hostesses. There were few who sent regrets to 
an invitation from them. 

It was at a masquerade at which Edith and 
Mrs. Castlemon, Allan, and most of those who 
met at the Adirondack hotel were present. Edith 


292 


At the Masquerade, 


was dressed as Ophelia^ and very beautiful she 
Avas, with her brilliant eyes shining- between the 
slits in her gauze mask. She was full of life, and 
the tantalizing whispers she uttered in many ears, 
as she glided among the guests, set many a smile 
upon incongruous faces. For instance, even 
odious Blue Beard could not help softening to her, 
and pretty Red Riding Hood's wolf gave up much 
of his ferocious expression, when she leaned 
behind his chair to whisper a laughing taunt. 

Mrs. Castlemon was Desdemona, She could 
not have chosen a more perfect character for 
herself. Her exquisite complexion and large, 
black eyes were full of the dreaming supposed 
to characterize the woman to whom Othello 
poured out his tale of adventure. Many of her 
friends had guessed who she was ere the masks 
were removed. Mr. Montgomery, as a robber 
of the olden time, had long ago discovered who 
the beautiful woman was. And Mr. Montgom- 
ery took occasion to stab her with other than a 
poisoned dagger. There is tragedy off the stage 
sometimes. 

“ You cannot deceive me, Edith,” Avhispered a 
low voice beside the forlorn Ophelia, as she was 


At the Masquerade . 


293 


flitting past Julius Ccesar. “You couldn’t 
deceive me if you were hidden in the countless 
wrappings of a mummy. I should discover 
you wherever and whatever you were. They 
say that love is blind, but I doubt it.” 

“ You should have proof before you swear !” 
was the gay whisper, as Ophelia, with her roman- 
tic bouquet and incongruous air of melancholy, 
disappeared among the maskers. 

“ And even Desdemona can be gay !” said a 
deep voice to Mrs. Castlemon, as she stood for a 
moment beside a group of palms at one end of 
the long rooms brilliant with lights and cos- 
tumes. “The years bring solace to many sore 
hearts. Even the Moor can say that. What has 
treachery to do with eternity?” 

Even under the mask the agitation on the 
beautiful face was seen by the keen blue eyes 
searching her face. She lifted up her head for 
a moment as though she would brave anything 
that could come upon her ; but there was such a 
sickening feeling of horror and pain upon her 
that the beautiful proud head slowly drooped, 
and the shadows fell over the pallid face 
under the mask. Her hands were convul- 


At the Masquerade. 


294 

sively grasping a fold of her dress, but not an 
answering word did she attempt to utter in her 
defense. 

“ Did Miss Hallston’s beautiful friend think 
she could hide herself forever from the eyes of 
the man who had sworn that all women are false 
and cruel, and certain to draw their own 
destruction upon them if given but time ? Did 
the charming Mrs. Castlemon not feel assured 
that there must come a time of reckoning, when 
even her cold pride would falter and she must 
face the world at her worst? Did the woman 
whom men flatter and worship — pah ! — think 
that all men are fools? Desdemona was false ! 
It is an excellent character for this charming 
widow to assume.” 

Mrs. Castlemon turned upon him suddenly, all 
her old spirit in the flaming black eyes behind 
the mask. She reached out one small, white 
hand in scorn, and cried, in her hushed, sweet, 
exquisite voice : 

“Robbers are often murderers! Your charac- 
ter was also well chosen. Monsieur Robin Hood ! 
The Moor was treacherous or Desdemona 
would have never been so cruelly murdered ! 


At the Masquerade. 


295 


She had a heart, as he proved with his dagger ! 
W ound as you will, noble robber, there is always 
balm in the knowledge of one’s innocence ! The 
poor little princes in the tower were more to be 
envied than the men who put them out of the 
world !” 

. A scornful laugh fell faintly from behind the 
robber’s mask, and the broad shoulders were dis- 
dainfully shrugged. 

“Words! words! words! What are they? 
Is there any woman who is not proficient in 
such? The dagger is sometimes more kind than 
the king, O beautiful Desdemona 

“ And who mourned for the woman when she 
was dead ?” asked the low voice, that was now 
quite steady and sweet, but with a note of pain 
that would have struck any one who loved her. 
“ Could the Moor bring back, by his bitter cry, 
the life he had taken ? When one is dead, one 
can never come back to grant forgiveness or 
take the love that is offered too late. A noble 
man would be sure of the worst ere he accepted 
such from the lips of any one against one he 
loved. Ophelia yonder may better sympathize 
with you in your fine sarcasm. Sir Robber. Des- 


296 


At the Masquerade. 


demona can think of nothing but the wonderful 
tales of Othello.’’ 

She seemed to drift away from him with indes- 
cribable gmce and melt among the throng. 
Many masks addressed her, and soft, whispered 
words gave tongue to a heart that could find no 
words to utter love beyond the shelter of masks 
The man she left by the palms watched her 
almost unconsciously. What was there in the 
musical voice that rang truth through the words ? 
Was he growing sentimental? Were Allan 
Mansfield’s words coming true of him, that the 
nature of many men had been changed after five- 
and-thirty ? He laughed contemptuously as he 
turned away to join the merry maskers, and 
there were pretty words and pretty eyes to 
answer his sallies as he went here and there 
rather aimlessly, with the recollection of those 
few sharp words under the palms. 

He had laughed to himself during Allan’s visit 
to him the previous summer, when they had sent 
their invitations for the gay party to come to 
his estate. The party was successful, and made 
the old house ring with gayety. There were 
bright eyes and soft laughter and voices through 


At the Masquerade. 


297 


the rooms and upon the lawn, but the brilliant 
eyes of yonder Desdemona and the fair Ophelia 
were not among them. He had been obliged to 
detain Allan by sheer force of politeness, when 
it was known that neither of those beautiful 
women accepted the generous invitation ex- 
tended them, together with their friends. And 
he had gone back to the Adirondack hotel after 
all, before the month was up. He was pretty 
certain that the invitation would not — nay, could 
not be accepted, but he had a daring soul under 
his frank manner, and if those women dared 
accept, he certainly dared extend an invitation ! 

He gnawed his mustache rather savagely as 
he went on through the crowd, scarcely answer- 
ing the soft whispers that floated past him. His 
eyes, dark with some angry thought, followed 
the beautiful Desdemona among the brilliant 
groups. He did not understand why she should 
so have overcome his pride ! She was still the 
Mrs. Castlemon she was the summer before ! 
She had not changed any more than he had 
changed. But had he not changed ? Certainly 
there had been no such restlessness in his heart 
when he saw her, so beautiful and so cold. 


298 


At the Masquerade, 


among the mountains. She had seemed so 
indifferent to him, why could not he keep that 
cold feeling in his heart toward her ? Surely, 
she had given him reason to hate her, to despise 
her, to shut her out of his life as completely as 
one could shut out forever the memory of a 
beautiful dream. 

He would have made an excellent Moor, with 
his frowning brows, as he went down the rooms, 
scarcely stopping to answer the drifting words 
around him. There was something so fierce and 
so unlike himself in his very step, as he passed 
through the crowd, that he was unrecognized 
by all, save this one woman. 

“ Humph !” he said to himself, his eyes still 
following the beautiful mask, “ but I made her 
suffer ! There are stabs keener than the touch 
of a dagger, in truth, my charming widow.” 

His voice was cruel ; his eyes were cruel ; his 
very lips shut cruelly over his words, as though 
they were too dark for the light of day or the 
light of truth. 

After awhile he paused alone in the shadow of 
the outer staircase, and stood moodily watching 
the gay crowd floating through the rooms under 


At the Masquerade. 299 

the soft gaslight and the more tender flicker of 
colored lanterns among the palms and at the 
entrance to the conservatory beyond. It was a 
gay scene, in truth, but his heart was too dark to 
take pleasure in such. He was fighting over 
again an old battle, and he was fearing defeat as 
he stood in the shadow. 

“ How many men would believe her and let 
the past die,” he muttered, and still his eyes 
sought for the proud, graceful figure among the 
others. How such women must laugh at the 
fools who swear by them. If she were true, she 
would be worth it, though,” he added, savagely. 
“ But she isn’t true, and a man is a fool indeed 
who would trust her. She truly should talk of 
daggers. And the conscience of the princes in 
the tower must comfort her like the sting of a 
serpent.” 

Again he laughed shortly, and savagely gnawed 
his mustache. 

By degrees his gaze left the one beautiful 
figure, and caught here and there the well-known 
manners of one or another that proved the iden- 
tity of the masker in spite of the screen so like a 
taunt of daring. Edith Hallston, as the music 


300 


At the Masquerade, 


for the dance drifted through the rooms, floated 
past him with JtUius Ccesar. He smiled grimly 
as he watched them in their happiness. He could 
have found it in his heart to have envied them 
that night. Deland was coming down the room. 
It was Deland, of course. And the pretty little 
figure beside him was, of course, no one but the 
Miss Camden he had heard so much about, the 
Miss Camden whom he could never forget 
because she came so strangely into his life on that 
black day. Could he ever forget that day, or 
those who were associated with it ? 

He shrugged his shoulders with a laugh, saying 
to himself that men and women were fools to 
think they could deceive others with a film of 
mask upon their faces. Were there any there 
whom he could not place if he had ever met 
them ? He would see, he said lightly. He could 
not enter the dance with his heart in its present 
state, and he would prove how shallow the world 
was while he stood apart from it and had no 
pleasure in its gayety. 

Some half-dozen of his friends and acquaint- 
ances perhaps he had placed, and was almost 
forgetting the anger in his heart, when one of the 


At the Masquerade . 301 

maskers came up, and paused just there as the 
music stopped, his face full turned toward the 
man in the shadows. W ith a smothered exclama- 
tion, Mr. Montgomery grasped the pillar beside 
him, bending forward as though drawn by some 
strange attraction to the one figure in the throng. 

Where had he seen that tawny beard and the 
square jaw and the broad shoulders atop of the 
magnificent figure? Where had they come upon 
him with something of unpleasant sensation? 
What was he more than any other stranger 
among the others? It was very absurd. This 
sharp raillery with the masked Desdemona had 
Avrought upon him until he was no longer him- 
self, but like# some silly fool to be moved at the 
slightest trifle. 

Ophelia with her bouquet of rosemary and pan- 
sies was the strange mask’s partner. Montgom- 
ery glanced sharply from her pretty, lifted face, 
shaded by the scrap of lace, to the bending face 
above her, with but this tawny mustache and 
square jaw visible even to his keen eyes. It was 
more than a passing fancy. He could not shake 
off the feeling that the man before him was in 


302 


At the Masquerade. 


some way mixed in his life. Then it came to him 
with the flashing of these lightning thoughts. 

All thought of Desdemona was gone. He was 
filled only with the knowledge that had so 
flashed upon him. He could not for the 
moment move or utter a sound. It was such a 
marvelous thing, this that was dawning upon 
him. Where was Allan that he did not take 
better care of the girl whom he swore he loved 
so intensely? Could he not, with the penetra- 
tion of such a heart, have seen the danger about 
the girl ? Could he not feel with the indescriba- 
ble instinct that should be born of love — have 
known where and with whom pretty Ophelia was 
dancing ? 

Mr. Montgomery started to enter the rooms 
and seek Allan to whom he would impart this 
secret he had discovered. His face, even 
masked as it was, betrayed his great agitation. 
As he was turning away from the shade of the 
staircase, a light hand touched his arm — just 
touched it like a snow-flake, and was removed. 
He turned swift as thought. Only a meek little 
nun with her soft, gray gown, and the rosary in 
her fingers, stood beside him. Not a trace of 


At the Masquerade. 


303 


her features was visible under the thick lace 
mask she wore, but there was something in the 
lifted, shy eyes that held Mr. Montgomery at 
her side. 

“ So, the shadows attract the pretty Sisters, 
too ?” he said, gently, a smile breaking the rigid 
face. “ But my little shadowy nun should go 
into the light. There are many among the 
maskers who would draw her away from the 
convent vail.” 

How could he know that these trivial words 
would so affect her? She staggered for one 
instant, her hands dropping the rosary and lifted 
toward him as though to keep off some blow ; 
then she held to the pillar with those trembling 
hands that fluttered like twin birds, the soft 
gray of her domino rising and falling swiftly 
over her fiercely beating heart. How could he 
know his words would so startle and affect her ? 
With quick kindness he would have steadied her 
with his own strong arm, and even laid his 
hands upon hers, as though to give her strength 
and courage, but she drew hers quickly away, 
and hid them behind her, recovering her self- 


304 


At the Masquerade, 


command enough to stand quite motionless with 
bent head. 

“My poor little Sister is faint? Will she 
allow a wild robber to bring her water ? Or 
wine, perhaps, would be the best — ” 

Once more she lifted her hands as though to 
keep off some blow, and trembled so that his 
heart was deeply sorry for her. 

“ You are agitated, child,” he would have so 
spoken to his own sister, he said to himself, and 
was glad to think of this afterward. “ Let me 
do something for you ! I shall be glad to help 
you, believe me !” 

She regained her self-control, and lifted her 
face steadily to his, though there could be 
seen nothing save the perfect softness of 
the round, white throat, and the gently molded 
chin. 

“You are kind,” she whispered; and the 
voice was quite strange to him, keen though his 
ears might be. “ I need nothing. The convent 
walls are still strong for aid to those who seek 
them. I have come only to whisper a warning. 
You have a friend here. He is handsome and 
honorable and happy. The girl he loves is with 


SHE REGAINED HER SEI-F-CONTROL, AND LIFTED HER FACE STEADILY TO HIS .— Parje ;^04 


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9 


In the Conservatory. 


305 


him. Not now, but she has been,” She spoke 
in stiff sentences, and so softly he could but 
catch the words. “ I tell you because you know 
why I wish him to understand. If he would 
save his life, and the life of the one dearest to 
him — tell him that; he will remember — he must 
leave here soon and unseen. You are his 
friend. I trust you.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

IN THE CONSERVATORY. 

Montgomery would have detained the little 
nun, but when he turned, she was nowhere in 
sight. 

“ What a deuced set of surprises there have 
come to-night !” he said to himself, as he entered 
again the brilliance of the rooms beyond. 
“ What will Mansfield say, and I wonder how she, 
that little nun, could know of this danger threat- 
ening him ? It must be the appearance of that 
mask is connected with it in some way, but how 


3o6 


In the Conservatory . 


she can know pf it — But there was a woman in 
the adventure ! Of course ; and why shouldn’t 
she be a pretty woman ? The mystery thickens.” 

Julius CcBsar and Desdemona were flying down 
the rooms in a waltz as Montgomery gained a 
position where the dancers were in sight. 
Ophelia still held as her partner the strange Mac- 
beth. Montgomery wondered how he could 
attract Mansfield’s attention without also the 
attention of his partner and others. Desdemona^ 
it was likely, would keep out of his way, and 
unless he could get Allan from her side he could 
not hope to deliver the message. For that he 
should deliver the message, in spite of the 
strange messenger, he had not a doubt. He had 
recognized the stalwart Macbeth too well to 
delay delivering the message of warning longer 
than necessary. 

The waltz was presently done, and some of 
the couples left the dance to wander to the con- 
servatory beyond or to other partners, and to 
flutter again among the arch figures bent on mis- 
chief. Allan and his partner turned down 
toward where Montgomery was standing, and as 
Allan caught sight of him he bent to the beauti- 


In the Conservatory, 


307 


ful woman beside him and whispered some word 
as though he would hasten her approach to his 
friend. But, with a woman’s perverseness, she 
shook her head, and he turned with her back 
toward the conservatory. 

Arthur Montgomery, watching so intently and 
with such a fear in his heart, could have killed 
her if a look would kill, as he muttered to him- 
self that he would have to follow them and give 
his message boldly before her. He was so 
certain there was need to deliver the message 
before the masks were removed. The woman 
Avould not have come to him if there had not 
truly been need. He had full confidence in her 
in some strange way. 

Therefore, seeing them turn from him at Des- 
dernona s wish, he bit his lip, and followed them 
as swiftly as was possible through the crowd. 
They must reach the conservatory before he 
reached them. 

They turned down the shadowy pine aisle as 
Mr. Montgomery entered, close upon them, and 
he turned away through the geranium border to 
so come upon them ahead, thus making it impos- 
sible for them to escape him. The music floated 


3o8 


In the Conservatory, 


bewilderingly through the scented dusk, where 
the colored lanterns made but a soft twilight, 
and the echo of the voices and laughter and 
light feet were like the echoes of a dream. 

He saw them just in front of him as he turned 
up into their path. He forgot his mask, and that 
the woman beside his friend was the one outjaf 
all the world he could wish away. He beckoned 
to Allan, and he, seeing him, nodded and drew 
his companion down toward him. What was it 
at that moment that flashed among the shrubbery 
and the glistening leaves of palm ? What was it 
that sent the life-blood sweeping back to Arthur 
Montgomery’s heart, and every trace of color to 
leave his face? 

He caught his breath like a man who is suffo- 
cating, and then, lithe as a tiger, he was upon the 
dark form hidden in the palm shadows, and there 
was the flash of steel, and a sudden silence as 
though death had fallen upon everything there 
save the flowers. 

Arthur Montgomery was grasping the lifted 
arm of the man with the tawny beard and the 
square jaw, and had torn from his face the shield- 


In the Conservatory, 


309 


ing mask, and was then like a man turned to 
stone. 

“ Look !” he cried, and Allan and his compan- 
ion stopped where they were, with the great 
amazement of this startling scene in the heart of 
that beauty. “ Look, Mansfield ! Come here ! 
I have my robber, and yours also !” 

Was this the man they had called a coward? 
Was this the man who could have sworn there 
was no good in the world ? Allan for a moment 
could not move or collect his senses in his great 
surprise. Then he sprang to the help of his 
friend, for he knew there must be a struggle. 
But ere he could reach him, the strong arm that 
held the revolver that had so betrayed him once 
more was wrenched free, and there was a deafen- 
ing report that sent a shiver through the quiet 
silence, and for a moment blinded them in smoke. 
Then Allan sprang to Arthur’s side and they 
struggled for the possession of the weapon. 

The aim was intended for Allan’s heart, but 
Montgomery had turned aside the aim with one 
stroke of his own powerful arm, and the struggle 
must be, for the would-be murderer, two against 
one ; Desdemona stood by for an instant like one. 


310 


In the Conservatory . 


of the statues themselves, her eyes upon the 
stranger. Then, reaching out her hands, as 
though for help, but utterly unnoticed by the 
men struggling but a few feet from her, she sank 
down among the palms as though she were struck 
with death. But no one noticed her ! 

The struggle was not long, but it was fearful 
while it lasted. All the men were strong, but 
the man struggling for his life fought with a des- 
peration that must shortly end in victory. A 
swarm of excited maskers crowded down the 
paths, with exclamations and cries of curiosity or 
alarm as the scene opened before them. As they 
came in sight, the man, with one last desperate 
struggle, wrenched his arm loose from the hold 
Montgomery had upon it, and with swift aim 
leveled the weapon full in Allan’s face. 

A horrified cry was blended with the scream 
of a woman, as Ophelia pushed her way through 
the crowding guests, and, at the same moment, 
two reports rang out through the green-house. 

A scene of indescribable confusion ensued. 
Ladies shrieked and fainted ; some, with more 
courage than the rest, ran to the insensible figure 
of beautiful Desdemona upon the ground, and 


In the Conservatory, 3 1 1 

raised her head ; others, with still greater self- 
control, pressed up to the very scene of the hor- 
ror. Masks were recklessly torn away from 
pretty faces, now pallid with fear ; nothing was 
remembered but the terrible act that had closed 
the drama of a life. 

“ I thought you were gone this time for cer- 
tain !” cried Arthur Montgomery, as he stepped 
back from the man lying in his own life-blood 
upon the ground. “ I would not have gone 
through this scene for a whole life’s happiness.” 

“ It was your thoughtfulness that saved me,” 
answered Allan, hoarsely, as Edith’s soft hands 
were clasped around his arm, and Edith’s beau- 
tiful, pallid face was raised to search for any 
harm done him. “ He must have succeeded but 
for you.” 

“But, oh! it was dreadful — dreadful!” she 
whispered, her voice broken by tears. “ I 
thought 1 must be too late, Allan. He was so 
close to you and I seemed so far away.” 

“ I must have seen you die before my eyes 
without being able to help you,” said Montgom- 
ery, in a low tone, breathing hard, “ for he held 
my nearest arm as though it was in a vise. But 


312 


hi the Conservatory. 


thank Heaven, indeed, that you are alive. It is 
the most wonderful rescue, Mansfield. A few 
inches higher, and he would have succeeded. I 
saw him in the crowd. I could never forget 
that beard and the heavy jaw. Miss Hallston 
was his partner, too, at the time, and I was but 
just conscious who he Avas, when one of the 
maskers came to me— ^-a gentle little nun she was 
— and told me to warn you. I came at once, but 
in this crowd you know how almost impossible 
it was to reach you, especially ” — a dark shadow 
fell upon his face — “ when you would not come 
to me inside there.” 

“ But, oh ! take me away from here quickly, 
Allan — do!” whispered Edith, feeling a deadly 
faintness upon her. “ It is terrible ! Why don’t 
they get him away ? How can they let him lie 
there, as though — ” 

“Hush!” said Allan, softly, placing his arm 
around her, and making a way for themselves 
through the crowd that was pressing up to Allan 
excitedly. “ He is dead, my dearest. He died 
by his own hand, and not by any of ours, thank 
God.” 

As Montgomery turned away to let them pass 


Ill the Conservatory. 313 

through to purer air and out of the excitement, 
he caught sight of beautiful Desdemona where 
she had fallen upon the ground, with her head 
tenderly lifted to Miss Camden’s shoulder, while 
some one had gone for water to revive her. 
Around the horrible figure of death upon the 
floor not far from her the crowd had gathered, 
with the strange fascination murder holds for 
the thoughtless. He had died by his own hand, 
but he would 'have* fulfilled his revenge even 
before he took his own life had not Edith, in one 
wild concentration of strength and desperation, 
brought her full weight upon the lifted arm so 
that it fell to one side, and the bullet turned to 
one side. He had shaken her off fiercely, and 
placed the muzzle of the weapon against his own 
temple, and had so gone out of life, while yet the 
crowd was pressing toward them. 

“ I could find it in my heart to hate her !” 
muttered Mr. Montgomery, bitterly, his eyes 
upon the beautiful, cold, still face resting 
against gentle Miss Camden’s shoulder. 

“ Have mercy upon him !” cried a voice beside 
him, scarcely audible in the excitement around 
them. 


314 The Unvailing of Mystery, 


It was the little nun in the gray domino, with 
the long mask over her face, one hand hold- 
ing the rosary, the other pressed against her 
side. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE UNVAILING OF MYSTERY. 

As Montgomery turned toward the nun, he 
saw her reel, and she reached out her hands 
toward him gropingly as though she could not 
see. He went to her instantly and supported 
her with as much tenderness as though she 
were in truth one of the gentle Sisters of the 
convent. 

“You are ill?” he said, his voice shaken with 
emotion. “ Let me take you out of this stifling 
atmosphere.” 

She looked up at him, as she whispered, 
faintly : 

“Will you remove the mask, please, Mr. 
Montgomery ? He — shot — me — ” 


The Unvailing of Mystery. 315 

“ Is it possible he exclaimed. “ Why did 
you not t^l me at once? My poor girl! And 
you saved their lives — ” 

She shook her head, a faint smile upon her 
lips as he bared the pallid face to the colored 
lights swinging overhead. 

“ It was nothing,” she said. “ If you will get 
me some water — I will be better at once ! I — 
am sure — I cannot die until I have righted some 
of — this terrible wrong — ” 

“ Hush 1 ” he said, gently. ‘‘ You shall not die 
if we can help you, my poor, brave girl.” 

He lifted her as though she were a child, and 
bore her through one of the glass-doors at the 
side into a small room beyond the parlors. 
Here he laid her upon a couch, and hurried out 
for a glass of water, ordering 'vyine brought to 
him instantly in the conservatory room. When 
he returned, the nun was insensible among the 
cushions, her hand fallen from her side, reveal- 
ing a dull, red stain upon the gray of her dom- 
ino. With infinite pity he raised her head to his 
arm and sprinkled some of the water upon her 
face. One of the waiters brought in wine and 
set it ready to his hand. 


3i6 The Unvailing of Mystery, 


‘‘ Send Mr. Mansfield and Miss Hallston here 
quickly!” said Montgomery, scarcely knowing 
what he said. He could not comprehend the 
words of the woman, and remembered that 
this might be more for Allan’s solving than his 
own. 

When they entered, Edith very white but 
calm, and Allan greatly moved by the few 
words of the man who delivered the message, 
the nun had regained consciousness, and was, 
still with her head upon Mr. Montgomery’s 
arm, trying to recover her voice and com- 
posure. When her eyes fell upon Allan, the 
color rushed to her face. Allan’s face paled as 
he recognized her. 

Bending above her, he said, tenderly : 

“My brave savior, my poor little woman, 
how did you come here? What brought you, 
of all persons, here to-night ?” 

Her voice was weak, but she commanded it as 
best she could to answer. Montgomery had sent 
the waiter to telephone for a physician at once, 
and prayed that one would come quickly. 

“ I came,” said the soft, low voice — “ I came, 
Allan Mansfield — to save you and — the one who 


The Unvailing of Mystery, 317 


is — dearest to you — in the world. I knew — this 
— that has come must soon come. I knew they — •. 
had not kept their word to me — that you should 
not — be harmed. I have watched you — since — 
as best I could. I would not let them — take your 
life, if it were possible — to prevent it." 

Her voice died out in weakness, but she shook 
her head when they would have kept her silent. 

“ I must tell it," she said, faintly — so faintly 
they could but just catch the words. 

“ I know as well as you, that I have but a few 
moments at best. I could not die without speak- 
ing. Had I lived, I should indeed have sought 
— the rest beyond the convent walls. You " — 
her eyes were upon Allan’s face, and she made a 
weak attempt to reach out her hand toward his, 
which he, seeing, knelt beside the couch, and took 
the weak little hand close in his — “you did not 
recognize me that night — that they brought you 
— to my home. I knew you from the watch you 
carried, at first ; afterward, I could see your — 
mother’s face in yours." 

The voice faltered once more, and again Mont- 
gomery raised the wine to her lips. 

“ He is dead," she whispered, with a shudder, 


3i8 The Unvailing of Mystery. 


turning her head aside. “ He is dead by his own 
hand. I have nothing to say. He deserved it, 
maybe you will say, but — he was my husband ! 
You do not know me, Allan Mansfield. You 
were a tiny child when I left your mother’s 
house to marry that man in there.” She shiv- 
ered, and her voice died out for an instant. “No 
one knew what he was. He assured us that he 
was in an excellent business, and I believed him. 
Your mother believed him, too. When I found 
that he was a robber and murderer — what could 
I do ? I could not leave him — I dared not betray 
him — and I would not let the woman who had 
been more than a mother to me guess what my 
life was. 

“You were too young to remember me — the 
maid whom your mother kept with her — whom 
she treated always as though she were more than 
an attendant. She was heavenly kind to me. 
She took me from the orphan asylum and edu- 
cated me and brought me up beside her, and I 
would have died for her. 

“ When you came to me that night, I could not 
believe my senses. I knew for what they had 
brought you, and I determined to save you, if 


The U^ivailhig of Mystery. 319 

there was any power in a woman’s pleading. 
You know the result. After you were gone, I 
did what I could to follow your life. I was 
afraid of their promise. I knew that such men 
would not iBesitate to break their word for their 
own sakes. They feared you because of the 
power you held over them, in spite of your oath. 

“No one was living who knew aught of our 
den or our life save yourself, and they would 
put it out of your power to harm them. So we 
came to New York. New York is a large city, 
and no one would know from what or where we 
came, if we did not choose that they should. 
Our story was plausible. We were from the 
West. We had made our money on a ranch 
and had come to spend it now we were older. 
They took us for what we appeared. We had 
money, and we bought our way in. We have 
met you before to-night, but you did not know 
it. We have been in the same society that you 
have been in, and not one among you dreamed 
that a robber and murderer was in your midst.” 

Again Mr. Montgomery held the wine against 
the pallid lips fast growing stiff in the presence 
of the great Angel. His eyes were marvelously 


320 The Unvailing of Mystery. 


soft with the pity in his heart, and as she glanced 
up to him, a smile broke the pallor of her face. 

I have come to take away the pain in your 
life, too,” she said, faintly. 

He thought her wandering. Death was so 
close upon her, life was fading, it must be. 

You must not think of me,” he said, gently. 

You must keep what strength you have to help 
the doctor when he comes.” 

I may not speak for your sake so much as 
for the woman you have wronged,” she said, 
steadily as she could command her words. She 
saw the startled look come into his eyes, and 
smiled her faint smile. “ I am a woman and 
have been wronged ; she is a woman, too, and 
you have done her the greatest wrong. You 
can restore the peace if not the full trust and the 
memory of what she has suffered ! Only one 
word more have I to say to Allan Mansfield, and 
I must say that ere I speak to you. Your 
mother has heard no word of me from the day 
I left your home. She may think me dead or 
that I have forgotten her. She could not dream 
of the truth. Do not tell her, I entreat you ! I 
loved her, I love her still too much to let her 


The Unvailing of Mystery, 


321 


know the depth to which I fell. Tell her I am 
dead, and died at peace with all. Tell her I 
have never forgotten her — that I must remember 
her, even in the new world opening to me. Tell 
her that her name was last upon my heart !” 

Edith was weeping softly, and her hand 
brushed tenderly the hair that had fallen upon 
the face resting on Montgomery’s arm. For a 
moment there was no sound save the heavy 
breathing of the woman and the rustle of Edith’s 
dress upon the floor. Then the woman moved 
her head so that she could meet Arthur Mont- 
gomery’s eyes, and said, very faintly now : 

“ Do you know that you might have broken 
her heart — the beautiful woman in there who fell 
when she caught sight of him ? Don’t you 
know that she could be nothing but the truest 
and best and noblest of women ? Do you think 
she would have gone away from your home as 
she did, taking nothing with her but her beauty 
and innocence, and the terrible burden of your 
cruelty — had she not been nobler than you 
would ever give her credit for being ?” 

Montgomery was intensely agitated. His face 
rivaled in pallor the face resting upon his arm. 


322 


The Ujiv ailing of Mystery, 


His eyes were growing wild with some great 
fear. 

“^For the love of God, tell me what you mean 
and what you know !” he cried. He gave her of 
the wine to drink, that she should retain her 
strength, little as it was. “ If you have pity, tell 
me quickly. You must know how much it is 
to me.” 

“ You did not care how much it was to her !" 
she said, brokenly, the lids slowly drooping over 
her eyes, her lips scarce able to frame the words. 
“You were cruel to her, I tell you. You did 
not know what such an accusation is to a woman 
with her purity and spirit. She left your home 
two years ago. She went away in the night, 
that you should never guess where she was 
until she had gone too far for you to trace her. 
You did not try. You let her go, without one 
effort to bring her back, without even attempt- 
ing to prove whether she were true or false. 
You would have broken her heart, but she would 
not let it break. She is as true and innocent and 
pure as the day you married her before the altar 
at St. James, and believed her the most marvel- 
ous among women.” 


The U^ivailing of Mystery. 323 


“ How do you know of this ?” murmured Mont- 
gomery, between his pallid lips. 

“ There was a time,” went on the faint, falter- 
ing voice, unheeding this interruption, “ when 
you said you had found her untrue to you. You 
said you had seen her in company with another 
man, whom you did not know, among the trees 
of your home in Canada. You accused her of 
treachery to you, and demanded her explanation 
in a way that left her proud spirit nothing to do 
but remain silent and bear the wrong so laid 
upon her. You accused her furiously and were 
cruel — oh, you were cruel to her, and she was as 
pure as the baby in its cradle ! You crushed 
her woman’s heart as though it were nothing 
to you ! 

“ l ean tell you no more. I have no voice left, 
and you could not hear me. The light — is the 
room so dark — so dark ? Go to her, if you have 
an atom of your old manhood, and beg her for- 
giveness upon your knees ; and if she will grant 
it, tell what I have said, and ask her to tell you 
who — he — was. She can tell you now. Tell 
her / am dead, and so is he. She can tell you 


324 The Unvailing of Mystery, 


without harm to us. She must tell you, for her 
own sake.” 

The blood welled over the stiffening lips, and 
the half-closed eyes opened widely for an instant. 
Then a flickering smile stirred the lips fast dye- 
ing with her life blood, and the heart that had 
suffered more than her words could tell, was at 
rest forever. 

Montgomery laid her gently and tenderly 
back upon the pillows, an expression upon his 
face of intense bewilderment and suffering. The 
arrow that had wounded a woman’s heart had 
entered into his own instead, and keener, sharper, 
more cruel than any stab from him. 

Allan, half buried in his own thoughts of the 
revelation the woman had made regarding his 
mother and the girl he had but faintly remem- 
bered as being about her when he was but a 
scrap of a boy, yet felt instinctively that there 
was need of sympathy for the man before him 
who had grown suddenly so old and careworn. 

Montgomery, old fellow ! Cheer up ! What 
was she saying that could shake you like this ? 
Come, come, my dear fellow, let me give you a 
restorative, as you have given her.” 


The Unvailing of Mystery. 325 

Montgomery shook his head and turned 
away. 

“ I must go to her at once !” he said, vaguely. 
“ Where is she, Miss Hallston 

Marie?” Edith turned from the face of 
death to the face of the living, where the one 
had nothing but peace and the other was 
seamed with care. She went up to him and laid 
her hand softly upon his arm, her face very ten- 
der, her eyes wistful with unshed tears that had 
gathered. You are going to her at last, Mr. 
Montgomery? You will be kind to her? She 
is so sweet and true and good that you must 
believe her. What should I have done, when 
mamma died, had she not come into my life like 
an angel ! I saw her advertisement for such a 
position, and I could not have had a better. I 
loved her from the moment I saw her. I love 
her now just as deeply. You cannot be cruel to 
her any more !” 

“You know, too, then?” he asked, hoarsely, 
the dazed expression still in his eyes. “ Every 
one knows of her truth except myself — the man 
who should have shielded her from anything the 
world could have hurt her with.” 


326 The Unv ailing of Mystery. 


“ No, I do not know,” said Edith, in her low, 
soft voice, as though she would not break the 
rest of the dead. She would never tell me 
what w^s the sore wound in her heart, but I 
love her too well not to know that some great 
sorrow had touched her life. If you go to her, 
be kind to her, dear Mr. Montgomery.” 

“Where is she?” he asked, half vacantly, turn- 
ing to her as though for the comfort he could 
not find. 

“ I will find her,” said Allan, quietly. He 
seemed to have regained his calmness as soon 
as he saw the agitation upon his friends. “ I 
will come back for you when I have found 
her — ” 

“ No, no, I must go with you !” cried Mont- 
gomery, restlessly, his eyes darkening, the pal- 
lor still upon his face. “ I cannot wait for you 
to find her ! / am the one to find her, Mansfield I 

I must go to her, if any one should — ” 

“ Come, then,” said Allan, his calmness falling 
upon this excited man. “We must have this 
brave woman cared for, and see that there is no 
more than we would wish let out about this 


The Unvailing of Mystery, 327 


dreadful affair. She would not wish it, and we 
must honor her.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Montgomery, hurriedly. “ We 
shall do all there is left for man to do for her, 
for what she has done for us. She is a wonder- 
ful woman.” 

Beautiful Desdeinona had been carried to her 
room, and it was some time before any one was 
admitted save Edith and those who were caring 
for her. Edith was the first one upon whom she 
opened her eyes, and the wild light that shone 
in them softened when she knew who was bend- 
ing so tenderly above her. Clasping her hands 
convulsively around Edith’s neck as she knelt 
beside the bed, she burst into a flood of passion- 
ate tears — the first Edith had ever seen her 
shed. 

“ Oh, Edith, Edith, if you knew — if you knew !” 
she cried, her voice smothered against her 
friend’s shoulder. ‘Wou have been always so 
sweet to me, and have shown me so clearly how 
much you love me — what will you say when you 
know the terrible truth? How can I tell you? 
How can I bring myself to tell you — ” 

‘‘ There, there, Marie dearest,” whispered the 


328 The Unvailmg of Mystery. 


soft, soothing voice against her ear. “ My poor, 
suffering Marie, never doubt that your Edith will 
love you always just the same. Tell me, if it will 
ease your heart, but never think for one moment 
that I would have you utter a word that wouM 
make the hurt worse. I love you too well to 
doubt you. Don’t you know that I do ?” 

Marie lay very still for a moment, the light 
touch upon her hair, her passionate heart throb- 
bing madly against the fender arm so lovingly 
encircling her. Then she commanded her voice, 
and spoke quite calmly. 

“ It is bitter to tell ; but I must tell it, after — 
what happened — in there — to-night. I must tell 
you this, Edith, and then go once more where 
you — and he — can never find me. I cannot bear 
for you — and he — ^to look upon me when you 
have heard my disgrace. No, no ; it is truly 
right that I tell it. Judge me as kindly as you 
have always judged me. That is all I ask — more 
than I can expect. 

“ When I was only three years old, my brother, 
the only other child in our family, who was 
almost six times my elder, quarreled with my 
father. Oh ! it was a terrible quarrel, Edith ! 


The U 71 V ailing of Mystery. 329 


Young as I was at the time, I still have a faint 
memory of it. The next day my brother did not 
come among us, and I was too fearful and shy to 
ask about him. No one told me where he had 
gone. No one ever spoke his name but once, 
when my mother whispered to me, when I was 
old enough to understand, and had asked for him, 
that I must never speak his name again in all my 
life. That he had brought some terrible disgrace 
upon us, and had quarreled with father, and had 
been sent out of- our home, and must never 
return. That it was something so dreadful he 
.had brought upon us that it would always darken 
my life, and it was for the best that I should be 
quite innocent of any knowledge of what it 
was. 

“ Of course, I was also old enough to have 
great curiosity about what my brother had done, 
and although I dared not disobey my mother, or 
ask afterward about him, yet I heard soon 
enough what he had done. It is impossible to 
keep disgrace away from those who must suffer 
for it. I learned soon enough, but it was out- 
side of my home that the knowledge came to 
me. I went to school, of course — we had a 


330 The Unvailing of Mystery, 


pretty old place out of Montreal — and was after- 
ward sent to a convent to be finished. It was 
there that ^ learned to command my temper 
and my pride. The Sisters were so gentle and 
so calm always that I could not let my passion- 
ate heart wound them, as at first I did. 

“It was there the knowledge came to me of 
my brother’s crime. One of my companions 
told me. She taunted me with it one day in a 
passion, and I made her tell me the whole truth. 
You cannot guess what it is, Edith. I shiver 
now when I think of it. My brother, who had 
been the idol of my father until that dreadful 
day, had committed forgery in the house he was 
looked upon as one of the most favored. They 
did not bring judgment against him out of kind 
ness and pity for my father. 

“ He marred his life, Edith. He might have 
outlived this first crime, but he was too head- 
strong and had been spoiled in his home. Noth- 
ing wasi too bad for him to do. It was long 
before we found this out. It was not until two 
years ago that the truth was made known to me 
by himself. I had married, Edith. My hus- 
band was one of the most generous of men. 


The Unvailing of Mystery, 


33T 


He was very wealthy, and nothing my heart 
could desire that money would purchase but I 
had. 

“ My husband had, of course, heard of this 
wild brother, but he never let the truth cast one 
shadow over our love or my happiness — until it 
was taken out of his hands. My brother himself 
came to me at my husband’s home one night. 
My husband had gone to the city, and I was in 
the woods beside the lawn. It was nearly dark, 
and I was waiting for him to come back. I was 
lonely, and could not rest. A man came to me 
out of this shadow. A man who at first fright- 
ened me, he was so rough and so hard with me. 
He caught me by my arm and held me close to 
him, while he whispered in my ear. He was my 
brother. He knew of my husband’s wealth, and 
demanded that I give him a share in it, that if I 
refused, he would get it whether or no. He 
knew how to get what he wanted, he said, 
coarsely, and laughed when I shrank away from 
him. Oh, it was dreadful, Edith, but I sent him 
away with some of my jewels. I dared not 
refuse him. 

My husband came upon us there. He did 


332 The Unvailing of Mystery. 


not utter one word then, but went straight into 
the house, and when I would have gone to him 
to beg his pity, he would not open his door to 
me — to me, his wife ! Not until the next day 
did he see me, and then he demanded of me who 
was my lover in such a manner — oh, Edith, 
Edith, you cannot guess the agony of it to me — 
and I could not explain. I came away the next 
night. I left his house without his knowing. I 
would have died rather than have let him know 
the truth, after that ! But I shall tell him 
to-night,” she said, softly, after a moment. “ I 
shall send for him and tell him, Edith, and then 
— then I shall go away from you all and hide, so 
that he will never find me, so that you may never 
see me again ! I could not meet your eyes after 
you know all the truth, Edith — I could not 
live !” 

A faint rap was heard at the door, and gently 
releasing herself from the clinging hands, Edith 
rose and opened it. Montgomery was outside. 
He was quite white but calm. He asked that he 
might see Mrs. Castlemon for but a moment. 
Edith would have sent him aw^ay, but Mrs. 
Castlemon, rising weakly to her feet, crossed to 


And After— ^ Peace, 


333 


her side and opened the door wider for his 
admittance. 

“ Come in,” she said, quietly. “ I have some- 
thing to say to you that must be said now !” 


CHAPTER XXL 

AND AFTER — PEACE. 

“ I will detain you but one moment,” said 
Mrs. Castlemon, steadily, as Montgomery 
entered the room, his white face betraying some 
great storm of emotion. She held Edith’s hand 
almost unconsciously as she faced him in her 
beautiful pallor. “ I have something to say, and 
it is best over. Afterward, you will go and I 
will never cross your path if it is in human 
power to have it so !” She was very quiet, 
but there was an excitement in her voice that 
told of her wonderful self-control. 

‘‘Two years ago, Arthur Montgomery, you 
insulted me in such a manner as to leave nothing 
for my womanhood but to leave your house then 


334 


And After — Peace, 


and forever! You did not ask me as any true 
man should — especially of his wife — for an 
explanation. You demanded it in a way any true 
woman must resent. You were hard as a stone 
and bitterly cruel when you should have been 
most kind. How did you know what had fallen 
upon me ? Why should you have judged it some- 
thing evil in my life ? Had you no more faith in 
me than that ? I went away from you then, and 
never saw you again till the day you would have 
let us die before your eyes, and never so much 
as have lifted your hand to save us. You would, 
too, have let this beautiful, true woman die with 
me, because / was with her. I think you would 
have been glad to see me die so before your eyes. 
It was no fault of yours that this did not happen. 
Wait 1” 

She stopped him as he would have spoken, and 
kept him back as he started toward her, his face 
strangely moved. “ I have not done. When I 
have I will be more generous than you, and let 
you clear yourself beyond the shadow of a doubt. 
I am the one wronged, and I have patience to 
bear much. You shall listen to me for this once. 
It is the least justice you can do me. Now I am 


And After — Peace. 335 

at liberty to free myself from your suspicion. 

I was forced to keep silent. Now the cause of 
my silence is removed. 

“ You know — you knew before you married 
me — that I had a brother who had cut himself 
from us — who was, so far as we knew, dead or 
worse. You knew of the crime he committed. 
There is little more to say. He was the man you 
charged me with having for a lover. He is the 
man you saw die before your eyes in the con- 
servatory to-night. He is the man who has 
brought disgrace upon me in every way ; but 
you are the man who should have defended me, 
and not falsely charged me with sin. You can 
go now, Arthur Montgomery. I have finished. 
We will never again meet on this earth. I can 
now go willingly, feeling that there can be no 
trace of wilful sin upon my own conscience or in 
your memory of the woman you wronged.” 

He started forward, and caught her hands, in 
spite of her attempt to evade him. She drew 
herself up to her full height, and the pride and 
truth and beauty of her face burned down into 
his innermost soul. He drew her to him, in spite 
of her coldness and passion and scorn. He 


336 


And After — Peace'. 


pressed down upon his shoulder the dark head, 
with its exquisite hair streaming over his arm 
nearly to the floor. He laid his own face down 
upon hers and sobbed as it is terrible to hear 
in a man. Edith had turned away, and left 
them, so softly they never knew of it. 

“ Marie, Marie !” whispered Arthur Mont- 
gomery, by and by, the sobs still in his voice, a 
remorse so great upon his face, the sweet black 
eyes lifted to his could not long hold their scorn. 
“ Marie ! Listen to me, do — for God’s sake listen 
to me ! I have wronged you ! I should b^e 
ashamed ever to look into your innocent face 
again, but that I shall plead so for your forgive- 
ness you cannot withhold it from me ! Ah, if 
you could know how I love you ! If you could 
know what I have suffered since you left me — 
since I drove you from our home ! Marie ! 
Marie ! The woman who died to-night — the 
wife of the man we saw shoot himself — told me 
of this wrong I have done you — you, the sweet- 
est, truest, noblest of women ! I cannot let you 
go — I will not let you go until you have told me 
of your forgiveness — until you have said, for the 
memory of our old love and trust and happiness. 


And After — Peace. 


337 


you will forgive me this wrong done you out of 
mad jealousy that made a brute of me; that you 
forgive me and will come back to me ! I will 
devote my life to making you happy. I will never 
let one harsh word mar your peace, if you will 
but come back to me — to me, Marie, my wife !” 

She was trembling in his arms. She could 
not get away from his embrace nor utterly hide 
her face from his eyes, try as she would, against 
his shoulder. She shivered and stood quite 
still, with his arms fiercely around her and his 
face against her hair. Then the hard words of 
reproach faltered and died in a burst of tears 
upon his shoulder. 

* * * * * * * 

So peace came from the strange mystery that 
had so long shrouded two lives. So, the peace 
of the grave hid the broken heart of one woman, 
while life’s new hope filled the heart of her 
sister woman in her husband’s beautiful home, 
where never any more was there sorrow for Jier 
save in memory of what had been. 


THE END. 


THE HIDDEN HAND. 

By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 

Author of “Unknown,” “Self-Made,” “Winning* Her Way,” “Only 
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Ottilie Aster’s 
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A NOVEL. 


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A GREAT NOVEL 

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Great Senators of the United States 

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By OLIVER DYER, 

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A NATIONAL BOOK, 


The New South, 

By HENRY W. GRADY. 

With a Character Sketch of ^ 

HENRY W. QRAHY, 

By OLIVER DYER, 

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• \ 

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spiritual side of his subject with a power and truth which indicate 
a great writer. 

RETAIL PRICE OF “THE NEW SOUTH,” $i.oo. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


MIS^ LIBBEY’S NEW NOVEE. 


lONE. 

By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY, 

Author of “A Mad Betrothal,” “Miss Middleton’s Lover,” “Parted 
by Fate, or The Mystery of Black-Tor Lighthouse,” etc., etc. 

Paper Cover, 5© Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00* 



Miss Libbey is the favorite writer with thousands of her coun- 
trymen and women. She is an American, with all the national 
instincts and sentiments, and her stories are purely American in 
their characteristics and in their description of life and nature. 
Her stories possess the merit of being readable and pleasing. No 
one can take up a novel like “ lone ” and put it down unread. In 
this respect, her readers owe her a debt of gratitude. She is 
never dull. “ lone ” will be read, from beginning to end, with 
- breathless interest. 

For sale by all Booksellers, and sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 

BOBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

. Cor. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


THE LOST LADY OF LONE. 


By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH, 

Author of “Unknown,” “The Hidden Hand,” “Nearest and 
Dearest,” “Only a Girl’s Heart,” “For Woman’s Love,” 

“A Leap in the Dark,” etc., etc. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Uonucl Volume, $1.00. 



‘‘The Lost Lady of Lone ” is 
one of Mrs. Southworth’s most 
romantic tales. The heroine is 
a woman almost too exquisite 
and admirable for this world. 
Her ideal type might be the cre- 
ation of a poet. She wins the 
heart of the reader from her first 
introduction in the pages of the 
novel, and every circumstance 
that affects her life is followed 
with the intensest sympathy and 
interest. This story is thorough- 
ly characteristic of Mrs. South- 
worth, and possesses all the 
merits of picturesque narration 
and description which distinguish 
her best novels. The scene of 
the story is the ancient castle of 
Lone in Scotland. The hero is 
the heir, who has alienated his 
ancestral home through a desire to gratify the extravagant caprices 
of a beloved parent. The story is hill of old-world charm and in- 
terest. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, PubUshers, 

Coe. William and Spruce Sts., New York. 


Edda’s Birthright 


By MRS. HARRIET LEWIS. 

With Seven Illustrations. 


Paper Cover, 50 Gents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


“Edda’s Birthright ’Ms an excellent novel. Mrs. Lewis has 
the faculty of making a story thoroughly interesting. There is, 
in “ Edda’s Birthright,” a charming girl, who engages sym- 
pathy by her spirited behavior in depressing circumstances, and 
wins the heart of the reader by her truly womanly character. 
The scene of the story is the great city of London, and the 
heroine has many strange incidents and episodes in her life. 
It is her splendid courage which makes her great charm, and 
which finally wins. Every one who reads this book will be well 
repaid. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of 
price, by 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, 

Corner William and Spruce Streets, New York, 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY. 


1. — HER DOUBLE LIFE. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

2. — UNKNOWN. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

3. — GUNMAKER OF MOSCOW. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. Paper 

Cover, 25 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

4. — MAUD MORTON. By Major Alfred R. Calhoun. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

5. — THE HIDDEN HAND. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

6. — SUNDERED HEARTS. By Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS. Paper Cover, 

50 Gents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

7. — THE STONE-CUTTER OF LISBON. By Wm. Henry Peck. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

8. — LADY KILDARE. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

9. — CRIS ROCK. By CAPTAIN Mayne Reid. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 

Bound Volume, $1.00. 

10. — NEAREST AND DEAREST. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

11. — THE BAILIFF’S SCHEME. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

12. — A LEAP IN THE DARK. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Sodthworth. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

13. — HENRY M. STANLEY. By Henry Frederic Redd all. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

14. — THE OLD LIFE’S SHADOWS. By Mrs. HARRIET LEWIS. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

15. — A MAD BETROTHAL. Bl' LAURA JEAN LiBBEY, Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

16. — THE LOST LADY OF LONE. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

17. — lONE. By Laura Jean Libbey. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound 

Volume, $1.00. 

18. — FOR WOMAN’S LOVE. By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southavorth. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

19. — CESAR BIROTTEAU. By Honore De Balzac. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

20. — THE BARONESS BLANK. By AUGUST Niemann. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

21. — PARTED BY FATE. By Laura Jean Libbey. Paper Cover, 50 

Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

22. — THE FORSAKEN INN. By Anna Katharine Green. Paper 

Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.50. 

23. — OTTILIE ASTER’S SILENCE. From the German, By Mrs. D. M. 

Lowrey. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

24. — EDDA’S BIRTHRIGHT. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis. Paper Cover, 

50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

25. — THE ALCHEMIST. From the French of Honore De Balzac. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 

26. — UNDER OATH.— An Adirondack Story. By Jean Kate Ludlum. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Bound Volume, $1.00. 


ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, Publishers, New York. 


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Ask yonr Druggist for it. and see that you get Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. 


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THEO. B. HOSTETTEB, Vice Preset. I 
II. L, MYEBS, Secretary and Treasurer. ) 


THE HOSTETTER COMPAM, PrODS. 

PITTSBURGH, PA. 



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<( IN 


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gears’ Soa,p is for Sale through- ^ 

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


